


Crawling Home

by Sarah Problem (SarahProblem)



Series: Come With Me [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Complete, Developing Relationship, Episode: s02e15 Journey to Babel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9903398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahProblem/pseuds/Sarah%20Problem
Summary: After being assigned to transport the dignitaries of various species to Babel, for the United Federation of Planets conference, Captain James T. Kirk and his crew find out that not everyone wants to play nice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> While this story is tagged as being related to Star Trek: The Original Series episode "The Journey to Babel", and uses much of the episode as a base, this will not be a retelling of that episode. Mostly, I've just used it for props for a different story.

 

 

**Crawling Home**

by Sarah Problem

 

 

 

 

James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the Starfleet Flagship, the  _Enterprise_ , found it took every ounce of willpower he had not to run his finger under his collar. Not because he didn't want to, but he could see in his 'fresher mirror that McCoy was doing just that. He knew what Bones was going to say, as he'd been saying it constantly for the past few days and Jim didn't want to prolong the inevitable rant.

"Damn it, Jim," McCoy snapped with annoyance. "I feel like I’m being strangled in this dress uniform. This is driving me crazy. Why the hell do they seem to get tighter every time they decide to issue new ones?"

"Just one more stop, Bones," Jim said as he checked himself over one final time and stepped out of the small room. "We pick up Ambassador Sarek, and we can relax."

"Relax?" McCoy huffed and scowled at him. "You know this is just getting started, don't you? A week with a hundred and fourteen delegates on board, thirty-two of them ambassadors. A formal reception tomorrow night, then who knows what kind of chaos will break out? Half of them hate the other half and all this political crap just makes them all jumpy. You've got one hell of a brawl waiting to break out here, Jim."

"They're  _ambassadors_ , Bones. They'll just have to use their words." He walked over to McCoy and looked at him appreciatively. The blue dress uniform fit McCoy like a glove. Tall, broad shoulders and trim waist only made Jim yearn to explore what was underneath. McCoy's dark hair, cut shorter now in a casual style, framed his face in a flattering way, setting off his gold-green eyes. "But if we didn't get spiffed up once in a while, when would I get to see you all dressed up and looking hot?" Jim leaned in to give McCoy a quick kiss on the lips.

"Yeah, well, both of us will have to be living off fantasy for a while," McCoy grumbled. "If we even have the time and energy to have fantasies. I know it's one thing to be discrete with the normal crew and another with dignitaries wandering around the ship."

Jim sighed, acknowledging the truth. They'd need to stick to their own cabins for a while since they'd be on call and needed to be 'professional' at a moment's notice.

_I need you **more**  when I'm feeling harried, angry or otherwise stressed,  _ Jim thought remembering the comfort they had shared the night before.  _Yet now, with all this chaos, I'll see you less. How does that make sense?_

Jim just smiled and clapped McCoy on the shoulder as he headed for the door. "Come on, Doctor McCoy, let's get the party started. Sooner we get everyone one settled, the sooner we can get to Babel."

The corridor outside was filled with people. Most of them were crew coming and going, but a few were people of various species in their civilian dress. Barred from the actual working parts of the ship, many of the dignitaries were making the rounds of the rest, getting used to the place they'd be spending the next week. Jim nodded at a few who tried to catch his eye but didn't slow his stride.

_Polite, but aloft,_ Jim reminded himself.  _I can't be pulled over by every dignitary who just wants to chat. Because most of them do._

They hadn't gone far down the hallway when Spock joined them. Spock looked neither comfortable nor uncomfortable in his dress uniform. And he did it in a way that made Jim just a little jealous.

"Looking forward to seeing your father?" McCoy asked.

"Always, Doctor," Spock replied. "He has been very busy with the establishment of New Vulcan. It has been some time we've been able to converse."

As they passed a wall communicator, it chirped. "Bridge to Captain Kirk."

"Kirk here," Jim answered.

"Shuttlecraft approaching with Ambassador Sarek's party. Estimate arrival one minute," Chekov replied.

"Bring them aboard, Mister Chekov."

As soon as Checkov signed off, the communicator chimed again.

"MedBay to Doctor McCoy."

Jim stepped back, and McCoy punched the button quickly.

"McCoy here, Nurse Branson."

"Doctor, we have a medical incident with a Menk attaché."

"Emergency?"

"No, sir, but the Menk Ambassador is insisting on the CMO's presence."

"On my way." McCoy nodded at Jim. "Sorry, Captain. I'd better get this."

"No problem," Jim answered. "I'm sure Sarek will understand. Let me know what's happened."

"Will do."

With that, McCoy jogged as quickly as he could through the crowds toward the lift.

A few moments later Jim and Spock found arrived at the shuttle bay. Security was already standing at attention as the Vulcan shuttle settled into place. Since it was clear that there would be a few moments before the Vulcan Ambassador would disembark, Jim took a moment to adjust his collar. He did feel like he was being throttled.

"I hate to admit it when McCoy's right, but I swear, Spock," he whispered to his First Officer, "Starfleet is trying to kill me by long-term strangulation with this uniform."

"I do not think," Spock began blandly, "that Starfleet would take the time and effort to remove you from your position in that manner."

"You don't?"

"No," Spock replied smoothly. "They may, however, be testing our patience and diplomatic skills. By the time we reach Babel, I believe our trip may qualify as _'A Death by a Thousand Cuts'_ as practiced in the mid, and late, Imperial China on Earth as a form of execution."

Jim tried to hide his smile and failed. "You made another joke," he accused.

Spock turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You did!" Jim insisted quickly before pulling himself back to attention as he saw Ambassador Sarek and his aides disembark. They weren't moving very fast, but Jim kept his voice very low anyway. Famous Vulcan hearing and all that. "I'm keeping track. McCoy and I have a bet going. You hit five by Christmas, and I get a really expensive bottle of bourbon. He's betting you don't."

"You do know, that by telling me this, I am now in jeopardy of his displeasure," Spock said, glancing at Jim. "If you let him know that you have told me this, he would accuse you of cheating by distorting the results. He would declare 'a foul' and the results null and void, and he…" Spock continued with a look that Jim could only interpret as annoyance, "would accuse me of being a 'kiss ass' by purposefully manipulating the results in your favor. I would be unable to convince him otherwise. If he were to win, you would accuse me of 'holding back' in fear of McCoy's wrath. So, _if_ the good Doctor were to find out you have now told me this, I would have a legitimate excuse  _not_  to indulge you."

"Ahh… So, I  _shouldn't_  mention this to him. If I want to have a chance to win."

"Yes."

"And you're more afraid of his wrath than mine."

"Yes," Spock admitted without a visible ounce of shame. "He is much more annoying than you are when he gets into a _mood_ , as Nyota would say. And he has an unusual, and I suspect mentally unhealthy, love of hypos."

_Yes,_ Jim grimaced, admitting the point to himself.  _He certainly does. Okay, maybe not 'mentally' unhealthy. But since he's the CMO, who's going to call him on it?_

"Ooookay," Jim agreed. "I won't say a word. You know, Spock, you seem to know us pretty well. That's kind'a scary."

Spock gave him another eyebrow salute. "Yes."

Ambassador Sarek's arrival at the entrance to the ship cut off any further conversation. Jim hoped that he didn't look nervous. He hadn't seen Sarek since the recovery of the planet's survivors after Vulcan fell. He'd never really talked to the Ambassador, and deep down Jim was still embarrassed at how he'd treated Spock on the bridge while Sarek watched. You don't shame a man's son into violence, using the man's dead mother as a cattle prod, and expect his father to feel kindly toward you.

_Except that Sarek's not human,_ Jim reminded himself,  _And Spock said Sarek knows why I did it. My only logical course of action, and all that. But still, that had to have been a nasty scene for Sarek to watch, as a father._

Jim had to admit, if only to himself, that if it had been the other way around he'd have liked to think his own father would have jumped into the fight and kicked Spock's ass. But he knew well enough that that was a child's wishful thinking, and didn't really apply to the real world.

As the Ambassador approached the door, his aides trailing him, Jim gave him the Vulcan salute. "Welcome aboard, Ambassador Sarek. We are pleased to welcome the representative of the Confederacy of Sarek aboard the _Enterprise_."

_I hope I got that right. It still sounds strange to say the new government's name. But I guess if you're going to start a new colony and revamp the old political system, you might as well give it a new name while you're at it._

Sarek returned the gesture and bowed slightly. "I am honored to serve, Captain Kirk."

"And, of course, you know my First Officer." Jim nodded toward Spock. "I can have him give you a tour of the ship's new retrofits since you were here last, or he can see to your quarters if you prefer."

"I think we should settle in first, Captain," Sarek answered graciously. "I'm sure our accommodations will be more than adequate."

"If you have any needs that we can fulfill, I hope you will feel free to let us know."

"Thank you, Captain," Sarek replied. "I look forward to having some time with my son, and seeing the changes to the ship at a later time."

"Have a pleasant stay." Jim stepped back and let Spock lead his father and his aides out to his assigned suite.

_Well, that went well. Let's just hope the rest of the voyage is as easy as dealing with the Vulcans._

 

***

 

He almost had it. The tweezers so close to the tiny wiggling body that he knew that he'd have it captured in just another second…

"Dr. McCoy!"

He couldn't help it. He flinched at the high-pitched call from behind the privacy drape, and could only watch as the thin, tiny piece of alien life disappeared back into the abraded skin of the arm he'd held down firmly.

"Damn it, Branson! I almost had that one," he groused. He gave Hikaru Sulu an apologetic grimace as he lifted up the magnifying visor from over his eyes.

"It's okay, Doc." Sulu, reclined on a biobed, didn't look as if he thought it was okay. Eyes locked on the ceiling, Sulu was looking a little green.

McCoy had been concerned when he found that the attaché to the Menk Ambassador had taken a tour of the botanical area and started poking his hand into the area with the 'Do Not Touch' sign. The _Enterprise_ collected a lot of various plant life on its trips, and some of them bit. The attaché had not listened to Sulu, who'd been acting as a tour guide, and gotten a few scratches from the trimopour. But Sulu had gotten a good bite while trying to protect their guest.

_I told them that thing should have a shield over it. Everyone wants to touch it._

"Sorry, Doctor," Nurse Branson said, "But the Quarlian Ambassador, Sha'na'tic, says he isn't feeling well and wants you to see him."

_I'll bet he does._ McCoy thought with frustration.  _Never fails. Get a ship full of diplomats, and every damn one of them starts vying for attention. Carry more than one species, and they start an Olympic competition for it, just to see who rates the best resources._

McCoy stood, stretched and scowled at the nurse. "Have M'Benga see to him. I'm still working on Sulu here."

Branson's eyes went wide with surprise. "But it's the  _Ambassador_ , Doctor! They asked for you, specifically!"

"Fine," McCoy grumbled, in no mood to fight the nurse's apparent hero worship of Ambassador Sha'na'tic. "Get him comfortable in room seven and tell him I'll be there in a moment."

Nurse Branson eagerly turned and left to complete her task, clearly thrilled that she'd get to talk to the Ambassador again.

McCoy turned to Sulu, who'd pulled himself up and was sitting on the biobed. "Sorry for the interruption. I'll get M'Benga over here to get those other, uh, fangs pulled out for you."

"Thanks, Doc." Sulu looked at the raw-looking flesh of his arm that was exposed by the hole in his shirt. His expression was sheepish. "I know they'd just all die off anyway. But it just, you know, gives me the willies when the fangs start moving on their own under my skin."

"You and your carnivorous plants," McCoy said, shaking his head. "I'd say it was too bad the Menk attaché wasn't the one who has to have organic fangs pulled out of his skin. But then the Captain would probably have to step in and soothe hurt feelings. Bet the aide didn't learn a thing from this."

Sulu nodded and lay back down on the bed with a sigh. "You're probably right."

"I'm always right. Ya' all are just too thick to see it."

Sulu chuckled. "I'm not going to argue with you in your own MedBay, Doc. That thick I'm not." Sulu nodded toward the far side of the MedBay. "So, your nurse has joined the Sha'na'tic fan club as well? Seems like every time I turn around, someone's gushing about the guy. You'd think he was a holo star or something."

"I know," McCoy admitted. "I think a third of the crew is being driven batty over him. It's driving me crazy."

McCoy leaned through the privacy drape and caught M'Benga's eye and waved him over. After a quick briefing on Sulu's condition, McCoy left M'Benga to it and walked quickly over to his office at the tail end of the MedBay. Grabbing a PADD from the always present pile on his desk, he entered his medical access code so he could pull up the Quarlian's medical files from the Xenobiology database. Not that he hadn't done his homework before the Ambassador and his party arrived, but with so many species aboard the _Enterprise_ for the trip he wanted to make double sure that he didn't get one species attributes mixed up with another.

He quickly scanned his personal notes, once again frustrated with the way the usual xenobiological information was laid out. McCoy found the official information on the Quarlians spotty and practically non-existent. It was too focused on the similarities they had to humans and not enough on the differences.

_It's not how we're alike that'll get someone killed, but the ways we differ_ , McCoy thought with annoyance.  _Until they become full members, everyone's afraid that we're not going to stay friendly, and don't want us knowing too much about them. Alphabet soup could knock them on their ass, but you'd never know from this._

Visually, the Quarlians could  _almost_  be taken as human, if not for the elongated tips of their ears and their thinness. Tall and spare, their eyes were just a touch larger than humans and with various shades of purple irises. The females McCoy had seen, only two of them in the Ambassador's group of five, were almost a foot shorter than the males. The whole group had snow white hair, which McCoy knew was standard for their species. They were graceful, always standing straight and seemingly at attention, although McCoy knew that that was due to the differences in their skeletal structure. The Quarlians couldn't slouch if they wanted to. And while it wasn't exactly a medical _fact_ , McCoy had to agree with the general consensus of the _Enterprise_ crew. They were all beautiful.

_Who did Sulu and Chekov say the Quarlians reminded them of? Wasn't it 'The Fey'? Something about that old Hobbit classic or something._ He'd tuned them out when the inevitable debate started between the two on whether Russia was, or wasn't, the source for those old fantasy tales.  _Why are they coming to MedBay? The report says they have their own Healer among them. If they're here to raid my supplies for their own uses, this may get tricky._

Coming up to the hall that led to the private exam rooms McCoy took one last look at his PADD then glanced around MedBay. With a ship full of non-Starfleet passengers, he had ordered a triage desk set up by the front entrance with some chairs for those who had to wait. Crewmen knew to wait by the entrance for a nurse or doctor to come and assess the damage and sort them to the needed beds and staff. But visitors could take to wandering around looking for help. They'd also put up more portable screens so that those waiting wouldn't be able to see the patients being treated. It made the long, narrow room feel even more claustrophobic, but McCoy was pleased to see that it seemed to be working.

_I shouldn't be missed for a while. Everything running steady._

He almost ran into Nurse Branson, who had left room seven with a dreamy smile on her face. "Oh, Doctor, they're ready to see you now."

"Fine, Nurse Branson. You can go see if M'Benga needs your help. I'd like to get Sulu finished up and out of here."

As soon as she was gone McCoy straightened his posture and ran a hand through his probably disheveled hair, and wondered if he should have checked a mirror before meeting with the Quarlians. This was his first official meeting since they'd come on board two days ago.

_Now they've got me doing it!_ He realized with chagrin.  _He's an ambassador, not a Holo Star! But then, again, we're all representing the Federation. No use reflecting badly on Jim's command._

He pressed the door chime and strode in with what he hoped was a confident manner. He quickly looked over the three Quarlians standing inside.

_Three males, by their height, build and dress. Eyes bright and normal looking. Skin clear, coloring even. No one looks flushed, although the one looks a bit stressed about the eyes. Hair, or whatever, shiny and thick. Two of them look like they'd be about 18 if they were human, which means they could be anywhere from 18 to 50 Terran years old. The third's older. He'd be taken as in his late 20's if he were human, which means anywhere from 50 to 60 years. The limit of their natural lifespan._

Not that there was a lot of their bodies he could see. All three were dressed in fancy embroidered robes, with their hair in multiple long braids. All three of them were stunning, and McCoy found himself wishing, once again, that he'd had time to straighten himself up a little.

_Hell if they don't make me want to put that damn dress uniform on again. I wonder if it would be worth it to look and feel like you're young and gorgeous until you just drop dead of old age, even if your life was a lot shorter._

McCoy put on his best smile and addressed the one he recognized as Ambassador Sha'na'tic. He was one of the two that looked impossibly young for his job.

"Welcome to MedBay, Ambassador," McCoy said with false cheer, remembering to bow his head at the last moment. "I hear that you're having some sort of medical problem?"

"Yes. I am," Sha'na'tic's voice boomed out, surprising McCoy with its deep timber. "I seem to be having head pains." He touched his temple with a grimace, reinforcing McCoy's notice of the strain about his eyes. "Even though I have had the light in our quarters reduced, I still seem to be bothered by it."

McCoy set down his PADD on the nearby table and waved toward the biobed. "Would you mind lying down, Ambassador? I can take a quick reading—"

"No, he will not," said the older of his companions with a look of disgust. "How undignified!"

Sha'na'tic waved a hand at the older man, a thin smile on his face. "Pardon my Healer's interruption, Doctor McCoy. Quen'fa is only looking out for my interest and position. He finds many of your Human medical practices…. un-nerving." Sha'na'tic sent an amused look at his Healer. "I'm sure you understand his protectiveness."

"I can appreciate his response." McCoy put on his best, most charming smile and faced Quen'fa.  _Hell, if he thinks the bio-bed is unnerving, wait until they hit a new planet or two. Some of the medical practices I've seen would knock their socks off. If they even wear socks._ "Is it the machine you've taken a dislike to, or the position? The bed can be tilted, and he can stand on the base. The biobed can read his physical condition from there."

Quen'fa's scowl didn't falter. "It violates a being's privacy. It's beneath the Ambassador's dignity to submit to such a scan for the sake of a paltry physical inconvenience."

_Lord, help me._ McCoy bit his tongue.  _Because if I go off on a lecture on how many people these beds have helped save, we'd not only be here all day, but Jim would probably hear about how I'd offended them. Damn it. I'm a Doctor, not a politician._

Going back to the table which was stocked with the standard set of medical supplies, he picked up a small tricorder and held it up for Quen'fa to see. "Can I use this, then? Its reports are not nearly as complete as a biobed, though, and I don’t know if I—"

"If you must," QuenFa all but growled. "But such a simple complaint shouldn't need such invasive devices."

McCoy waved the small scanner near Sha'na'tic's head, taking his permission while he had it.

The readings didn't help him any. Not having a complete, detailed physical record of what was or wasn't normal meant that McCoy still had to interpret the readings he was getting. Without more information, he couldn't calibrate any of his instruments to do more than report on what would be humanoid normal in the most general way.

"I'm sorry, Ambassador, but without more information on what's normal for your species, I can't see anything that would cause the pain." McCoy continued quickly, seeing that Quen'fa was about to add something McCoy didn't think would be helpful. "If you believe it's caused by the lighting on the _Enterprise_ , I can ask the Chief Science Officer to provide our Chief Engineer with an analysis of your sun's color spectrum and native lighting. Then he can suggest changes to your suite's lighting to make it more comfortable while you rest. And with your Healer's help," McCoy added, pretty sure that he wouldn't actually get any, "we can test your eyesight to see if there's been any degeneration, due to stress or --."

"Of course there haven't been any," Quen'fa huffed. "All he needs is a simple analgesic and more rest. This mixing with so many, varied species and this blasted starship travel is enough—"

"Yes, Quen'fa," Sha'na'tic said sharply, sending a quick glare at his Healer. "I'm sure the Doctor is aware of the stress of such missions. This is surely not his first." He turned to McCoy. "I'd appreciate your help with the lights, Doctor, since that seems to be a lot of the problem. I'm afraid that our Healer finds himself almost out of the natural analgesic that I like to use at home, or we would not have bothered you."

_Hell, if you'd just told me at the **start**  that you're out of Quarlian aspirin, we'd have been done by now. _

"I have a vast store of pharmaceuticals I can prescribe. If you'd let me run some quick tests on you, I'm sure I can find something—"

"No, I'm afraid not, Doctor," Quen'fa said.

"It's a matter of National Privacy," Sha'na'tic added with a pained smile. "Until we are members in full, we chose not to share much of our personal or biological information. Nothing personal, doctor. That is why we travel with our own physicians."

_Damn Diplomats. As if I don't have anything better to do around here._ McCoy asked, trying to hide his exasperation. "Then what can I help with?"

"I have only the tiniest bit of trimmander left," Quen'fa said. "It should be possible to have it analyzed and the basic compounds duplicated aboard ship. Then if the Ambassador's pain does not leave, or returns to him after his rest, I could administer that."

"Or, you could have the chemical component list and production procedure sent by subspace from one of your apothecaries or pharmacists," McCoy reminded them. "Then I, or one of the lab assistants, could be sure to duplicate it exactly to—"

"No," Quen'fa interrupted again, his handsome features grown stony. "There's no guarantee that bandying our medical formulas through such channels won't lead to them being intercepted by someone who could do us harm. I think that you, as a Starfleet Doctor and not a lowly lab assistant, could be trusted with the knowledge once you have analyzed what we have left. But you then must agree to destroy all information you glean from the compound, sending me the only copy of the formula you create, and destroying any copy you yourself would otherwise keep. Unless…" Quen'fa's sudden smile raising McCoy's hackles at its predatory nature, "you would grant me full access to your pharmacological collections and laboratories so that I can duplicate the compound myself, in privacy?"

"That shouldn't be necessary," McCoy said carefully, trying to hide his frustration.  _No stranger plays in my sandbox, with my sand, unless I've vetted them first. And I have a feeling you're not about to let me do that. Stalemate._ "I'd be happy to do what I can."

"On those terms?" Sha'na'tic asked, studying McCoy closely. "I would appreciate you taking this on yourself, of course, Doctor. Quen'fa can be very overzealous about my health, but I've come to rely on him to look out for my interests."

"Yes. Sure," McCoy conceded, knowing that this wasn't going to be worth fighting over. This wasn't the worst or most unusual thing an Ambassador had asked of him. "Just send over the sample and I'll take it apart as soon as I get a few minutes. If there are any emergencies that need my attention, those will have to come first."

"I completely understand," Sha'na'tic said with a smile, reminding McCoy once again why the Quarlians were known for their handsomeness. It was such a jolt to have their attention that they could scatter a person's thoughts to the wind. Sha'na'tic took a step toward the door. "My personal aide, Vena'k," Sha'na'tic gestured toward the third Quarlian in the room that McCoy had almost forgotten about, "will deliver the sample to you, sometime later this afternoon. We'll await a report from your Chief Engineer about our cabin's lighting. Good day, Doctor."

With a small nod, Sha'na'tic and his men left the small room in a graceful flow of robes, as silent as ghosts.

"All of that, over a damn headache." McCoy rubbed his eyes, feeling one of his own creeping up on him. "God, I don't know how Jim puts up with all this diplomatic stuff. I constantly end up wanting to wring all their necks, and I've taken an oath to do no harm!"

 

***

 

Jim Kirk found himself staring at his newly delivered dinner with tired confusion.  _It's happened,_  He thought tiredly.  _Bones said it would. I've burned out all my brain cells. I can't even remember what I ordered ten minutes ago._

He'd come into the Officer's Mess to find a few quiet minutes to himself. He'd found his favorite table, back in the corner and mostly hidden from the rest of the room by an unfortunate structural pole. No view of the stars, but he didn't mind that so much when he wanted to be around people but still have a bit of quiet. He remembered talking to the Cook, but now didn't remember what he'd ordered. He not only didn't recognize the dish, he wasn't even sure that he'd ever knowingly ordered purple and blue food before. But the crewman hovering at his elbow was anxiously waiting for a response.

He forced a smile. "Thanks… Uh… Bailey? Yeah, Bailey. Looks good. Thank you."

Bailey, smiled, obviously reassured. "Enjoy, Captain."

Jim poked at the dish with his fork.  _Maybe I should have just asked. I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time a crewman thought I was a bit slow on the uptake._

"Surprised to find you here. I thought you'd be holed up in your cabin for a quiet meal."

Jim looked up at McCoy and grimaced. "I would be, but everyone just finds me there anyway. Besides, the food's better here." He examined his plate again. "I think."

"What is that?" Bones asked, his nose wrinkling as he squinted at Jim's plate.

"No clue," Jim admitted. He gave up poking it. "I think I ordered it. I’m not sure."

"Probably Chef's Surprise." McCoy sat in the chair opposite him, leaning back to stretch. "The real surprise is why anyone orders it."

Jim laughed. "Just like academy food. Say, how'd that thing go with the Menk attaché? Anyone hurt?"

"The attaché tried to touch the trimopour, even though he was warned not to.  _He_  just got a few scratches, but Sulu was heading the tour group and got bitten pretty hard when he tried to save the aide from his own stupidity. Snapped off a few of the fangs."

"Everybody's got to try to pet it," Jim sighed. "Evil plants should not look like cute little kittens."

"Says one of its first victims," McCoy smiled wryly. "You and Sulu are like magnets for those things. I keep _telling_  you both if it looks cute, it's dangerous. Don’t touch."

"So you do," Jim put down his fork and used both hands to rub at his eyes. "It  _has_  been a day."

"I'm not in much better shape," McCoy admitted tiredly. "I was halfway here before I remembered I was supposed to be going in the other direction. You'll have my report coming in later this evening on some of the Ambassador's visits. Some complaints from the Andorians about their cabin being too warm. One of the Deltans aides seemed to have an upset stomach from something he ate, but it was from food they brought with them, not anything from here. One of the Tellarites has a cough I'm going to be watching. The Quarlians were in. The Ambassador's cabins may need their lighting adjusted. I haven't heard from the Vulcans, the Orion's or the Denobulans, knock on wood, but I have from about everyone else in one way or another. I've sent some of the requests to Spock to see if his team or Scotty's can make some minor adjustments to some of the quarters." McCoy shook his head. "At least we don't have that formal reception until tomorrow night. Between the Deltans and the Quarlians, hormones are gonna run high on this trip. Already one of my nurses was floating high from just getting to talk to the Quarlian group."

"I only got to meet them for a few moments when they arrived. But, wow! I'd heard they were lookers, but that's kind of intimidating," Jim admitted. "I felt like I'd been rolling in the dirt once I stood next to them."

"Yeah, I felt that as well," McCoy said. "Nice enough, but their healer has a stick up his ass. He didn't like me or my MedBay much."

"The Quarlians are new to the Federation and are thinking of putting in for full membership when they get to Babel," Jim said. "This will be their first big council meeting. They didn't seem inclined to want to chit-chat with me when they boarded, thank goodness, because the Tellarites never wanted to stop talking." Jim rubbed at his chin, trying to remember everything he could about the new species. "I would have loved to see their ship, but they arrived by shuttle. It's an interesting design, and I can see why the Federation would be interested in having them as members. Spock was almost drooling over it the chance to examine it, but it would have been rude to scan them. They didn't have anything seriously wrong, did they?"

McCoy shrugged, then reached over and took Jim's water glass, draining half of it before plunking it back down. "Not that I can tell. But it's not like I'd know, now is it? Just because I'm an actual  _Doctor_ , with people's  _lives_ in my care, doesn't mean I need to  _know_  squat about any of the different species we're ferrying about. I can always easily wing it by rooting around in their insides for a few days to get acclimated to their  _needs_."

"I know, Bones." Kirk held up a hand, trying to forestall having  _that_  conversation again. "You can't be expected to give top-notch medical service to those species who are reluctant to give out their biological details. You can't correctly treat what you don't understand. I totally get it, and you're right."

"Yeah, well, I wish Starfleet Medical would put their foot down about information exchange  _before_  they all allow us to carry the Federation's new friends around," McCoy said with a disgusted grunt.

"They could be good for us, as new members," Jim said. "The Quarlians are sharp negotiators and can show plenty of charm when they want. They've already gotten a lot of fans along the top echelon." Jim grew serious, lowering his voice. "They've got some tech that the big guys want a closer look at, and we know they're wanting our transporter technology and warp core schematics. They seem to be stalled in the development of some of the technologies that use the higher mathematical sciences. So, we've got a lot we can trade with each other. But you know how everyone is keeping all their own tech close to their vests these days."

McCoy nodded grimly. "Because of Vulcan."

"Because we lost Vulcan," Jim agreed. "The Federation's still has to show it hasn't lost its backbone with Vulcan gone and most of its people endangered. They've been so busy trying to establish the new colony that they're not as involved in politics as they were. The Orions, Tellarites, Andorians, and more than a few others are apparently having second thoughts about the current membership's pecking order, whatever that is now. They're starting to wonder if we humans are capable of holding the Federation together. Or, at least, wondering if Starfleet Headquarters needs to move to one of the more senior member planets."

"The universe has been dealt a new deck, and now all the players are wondering if the game has changed."

"Pretty much. They're afraid to trust what the Federation is anymore. They feel that we're so much weaker now, and our enemies are keeping a close eye on us. Losing Vulcan's been a huge blow." Jim said sadly. The memories of losing Vulcan, and almost losing Earth, were still painful. Probably always would be. "The Vulcans were the first contact for most of the species in this sector. They were the incentive and the backing for a lot of Humanity's first contacts and the formation of the Federation. And not all of the other species have been very approving about how Humans fill most of Starfleet's positions."

"Some of them have never considered Humans more than puppets of the Vulcan's, that's for sure. And now that the Puppet Master is pretty much gone…." McCoy sighed. "I sure don't envy you the political tightrope you're walking, Jim. I'd be half crazy from frustration by now."

"How do you know I'm not?" Jim smiled. "Hell, half of Starfleet thinks I'm on the edge, and those are the ones that  _like_  me. Or at least don't dislike me much. Some of the others are hoping I'm full out crazy and one of these days will step over some line that'll fry my ass."

"Oh, I'd know," McCoy huffed with amusement. "You're close to crazy, but no cigar. I'll let you know when full-blown insanity kicks in, 'cause I'll be one step behind you."

"I'll hold you to that," Jim said. "We can put in to share a room at the asylum. Be like old times."

"That it would," McCoy agreed. He pushed away from the table and stood.

"You're not eating?"

McCoy shook his head and yawned. "Not here. I gotta go. Grab a sandwich and get back to MedBay. I've got some lab work to for the Quarlians this evening. Got to re-invent aspirin."

"Seriously? Well, maybe you'll learn something new about them for the records. Hell, get a patent on whatever it is you cook up for them, Bones," Jim teased. "You could make millions of credits on it. One of us has to have credits coming in to support us in our retirement."

"Not happening this round," McCoy said with resignation. "They already nailed me on their privacy rights over medical issues. I'm not even supposed to keep any notes. Besides," McCoy said with a twinkle in his eye, "you're the Sugar Daddy in this relationship,  _Captain_. Get back out there and earn that Admiral's pension. We're gonna need it."

Jim laughed. "Yeah, I'll work on that."

McCoy turned away, waving a hand toward Jim's table. "Eat."

Picking up his fork, Jim started in on his dinner. McCoy was right. The day was only going to get longer, and there was never any good coming from wasting fresh food.

 

***

 

McCoy was still holding half a sandwich in one hand and typing on his pad with the other when the chime on his office door went off.

"Come," McCoy said with a sigh as he quickly tapped in the last few entries on his report.  _I knew I was never going to get that sandwich finished. At least Jim's report is done._  He placed his thumb on the signature line and sent it on its way.

"The Quarlian aide, Vena'k, is here," Nurse Raymond said as he leaned through the door. "Said he had some lab work for you. And only you. M'benga said to tell you he's on shift now, so you're off-duty whenever you get a chance."

McCoy took one last bite of his sandwich and tossed it and the plate into the recycler. "Thanks, Raymond. Tell M'Benga I'll be in the lab for a while and then I'll head to my quarters. See if I can get some sleep in before my next shift."

McCoy followed Nurse Raymond out into MedBay. The lights were dimmed to match the ship's night shift. The normal sounds of the daily hustle and bustle of MedBay were muted and soft.

_All it takes is to lower the lights and pretend that it's evening, and we all act accordingly,_ McCoy mused, checking out the number of beds open and what the nursing staff was doing.  _A few more hours and most of the ship will be asleep. I wonder if we'll ever really outgrow our need for circadian rhythms. What could do if we didn't have to sleep?_

He waved at Doctor M'Benga who was seeing to an engineering crewman, getting a nod in return. That didn't look too serious.

Vena'k, the Quarlian aide, stood at the side of the main entrance, looking like a child compared to everyone else in the room.  _Got to remember he's probably a lot older than he looks,_  McCoy reminded himself.  _He could be closer to my age than Chekov's._

"Welcome to MedBay, Vena'k," McCoy said, suddenly realizing he didn't really know how to address the aide. He bowed a tiny bit, feeling awkward. "Do you have the sample I need to duplicate?"

Vena'k nodded. His long, white hair braided into several plaits, shifted at the move. The two in the front fell over deep red, embroidered robes covered a tall, thin frame. His severely pointed ears, even more so than a Vulcan's, were left uncovered, which McCoy thought made his already large eyes look even bigger. The Quarlian males grew no facial hair, and very little body hair otherwise, leaving their skin looking smooth and pore-less. Vena'k's dark purple eyes, under 'barely there' brows, looked at McCoy with interest, but no real friendliness that McCoy could read.

_Damn it. I don't even know his real age in Quarlian years. What if he gets sick? What if I can't even help them with this small project? I hate being this in the dark on a species I'm supposed to be helping stay alive and healthy._

"I have what is left of the trimmander, Doctor McCoy. But there is very little of it."

"That's fine. We'll make it work." McCoy beckoned Vena'k out to the main corridor and down the hall to the main science labs. The main science labs on the _Enterprise_ were contained in the same section as MedBay but were separated enough that they both had different Atmospheric Environments. That way an emergency in the labs didn't include those caught in MedBay at the time. And the labs would be able to run tests if the MedBay was locked down because of contagion. McCoy showed Vena'k into the office of the main lab and waved him to a seat. "Just let me sign into a lab station, and I'll see what I can do for you."

Vena'k nodded, but stood and waited while McCoy checked the main computer and signed himself into an unused room with the equipment he'd need.

He was soon ushering Vena'k into a sterile, empty space that contained some of the finest equipment in the Federation. Once he'd sealed the door shut behind him, he turned to Vena'k.

"I'll need to—" McCoy jumped, startled when something dark and powdery flew into his face. Stunned, hands clawing at his face, he gasped. Before he could even taste the powder that now coated his mouth, eyes, and nose, the world went dark.

He barely realized it when his body hit the floor.

***

 

Jim Kirk sighed appreciatively at the taste of his coffee. Having had only a few hours sleep the night before and rushing his breakfast, he figured this was the one moment of the day when he could actually relax. Touching base with each of the department heads on the _Enterprise_ first thing every Alpha shift was their new reality. Usually, he'd take any daily reports in his Ready Room, giving him plenty of time to catch up and take a breath before taking command of the bridge. Unless there was an emergency of course. But with so many politicians and ambassadors on the ship, things could get pretty explosive during any shift. So, Jim had ordered a mandatory meeting every morning. This would give him face-to-face time with all the departments, Medical, Science, Engineering, Security, andTactical, so that he could really access how things were going. Jim played poker with all of them and chess with several, and he knew their tells. If they were unusually unhappy or reluctant to bring anything up to the Captain, he'd be able to tell.

Chekov and Spock came in together, minutes before the meeting was due to start. Spock nodded at him before taking his seat, looking as cool and calm as usual. He sat down and began to pull up reports on his PADD.  _No real problems in the Science department. He's not sitting stiffly on the edge of his seat, with the PADD perfectly aligned on the table in front of him. The worse things get, the more he gets particular about his PADD's placement._

Chekov had headed for the replicator, ordering black coffee. Jim knew Chekov didn't really like coffee, let alone black.  _I'll have to check with Bones and have him keep an eye on the kid. If he shows too much strain I'll make Lieutenant Hendorff Chekov's personal assistant. He's more tuned into Security issues on the ship than Chekov is. What Starfleet was thinking when they merged Tactical and Security into one position, I'll never know. It should at least be a subset, with its own head._

Scotty came skittering in a moment later, carrying his own morning beverage in a mug large enough to float a ship of its own. His smile was crooked but fairly chipper. "Sorry I'm late, Captain. I've been so busy tweakin' the replicators to the Ambassador's personal tastes that I forgot my own was on the fritz." He held up his mug. "Got the lass back to work, but cost me a few minutes."

"No problem, Scotty," Jim said. "Dr. McCoy isn't here yet, so you're not the last to arrive." Jim glanced at the time. "Might as well get started. McCoy can catch up when he gets here."

Each of the department heads gave their reports and answered some of Jim's questions while noting the ones they'd have to look into and report back on. There was nothing really unusual or startling, although Jim felt that they should have been warned of some issues by Starfleet and other issues should have been taken care of before some of the delegations had been picked up for the trip. And all the while Jim found himself growing more and more concerned by McCoy's absence. As soon as Jim finished asking his questions about Scotty's report, the last of the session besides Medical, Jim held up his hands and stood.

"So far, looks like nothing we all can't handle. But give me a minute to find out where McCoy is, so we all can get as complete a briefing as possible."

Jim ignored Scotty's mumbled, "Glad it's not me this time," and walked into the small alcove that gave him a bit of privacy from the others in the room. He hit the comm button. "Kirk to McCoy." After a moment, when no reply came, he tapped it again. "Kirk to MedBay."

"Dr. M'Benga here, Captain."

"Is McCoy on his way?"

There was an awkward silence. "Actually, Sir, I haven't seen him this morning. He didn't check in as usual. I assumed he'd already left for the meeting. I was just waiting for him to return and relieve me of duty."

"Fine, Doctor. I'll buzz his cabin."

Jim closed the connection and tried McCoy's cabin. His feeling of unease grew as he waiting in vain for an answer. "Computer, locate Dr. McCoy."

After a brief pause, the computer replied. "Dr. McCoy is located in quarters C-F32."

_He's there. This isn't like him. He never oversleeps unless he's sick, or got caught hip deep in patients for hours on end. I've had no reports of any emergencies, and he didn't seem that tired last night._

Jim's concern must have shown on his face when he came back into the main room because the other's all looked concerned as well. "Let's all get back to work. I'll run by and check on Dr. McCoy."

"Aye, sir," Scotty and Chekov said in unison. They collected their PADDs and left. Spock stood by the door, watching him.

"I am going in that direction, Captain. I can accompany you."

"A bit of a scenic route for you, isn't it?" Jim asked, heading for the elevator.

"A small one," Spock conceded. "But I have nothing pressing at the moment, and this is not like the Doctor."

"No, it's not," Jim agreed. He eyed Spock carefully. "And if he's overslept, you want to be able to rub it in, huh, Spock? Something you can embarrass him with later?"

Spock's expression didn't change, but he tilted his head slightly as if conceding the fact. "I've found that with the good Doctor, it never hurt to have one's arsenal full."

If he didn't already know that Spock's concern was real, Jim almost would have smiled. He never really understood the rough and rocky relationship McCoy and Spock seemed to have, but he didn't believe in rocking the boat if was working. And since both Spock and McCoy seemed to enjoy their one-upmanship and verbal sparring, Jim was content to let it be and enjoy what he could of the clashes, as long as neither went too far. Sometimes he learned more about both men than they'd have intended.

It took them a few minutes to walk to McCoy's quarters. Jim activated the chime. When there was no response, Jim typed in the passcode to McCoy's door. "Give me a moment," he told Spock as he walked in.

The rooms were dark. Jim scanned the small front area, seeing no one on the sofa or at the small replicator/kitchen nook.  _His things are spread out like normal when he gets busy._ Jim fought the growing sense that something was wrong, even as he realized that nothing seemed out of place. Striding to the room divider, he looked around the corner. The light spilled in from the open corridor behind him didn't much help dispel the darkness at the other end of the alcove. He relaxed for a moment, seeing a darker, human-like shape on the bed.

"Bones?" Jim asked quietly. "You awake? Don't make me come in there and find out you've developed a new kink or something really wicked."

There was no answer.

"Lights," Jim ordered. As they flashed on full, Jim's eyes struggled to focus. After a second of shock, Jim rushed toward the bed. "Computer! Alert MedBay! Medical emergency!"

McCoy was lying on the bed on his back, still in his medical uniform. His eyes were partially shut, his arms at his side, his mouth open. Jim raced to find the pulse point at McCoy' throat, the other on his chest and feeling for a heartbeat.  _Oh, thank God, he's breathing and has a pulse!_

Spock was suddenly at the other side of the bed. "Captain? Is he conscious?"

"He hasn't even twitched," Jim replied as he leaned over to pull up an eyelid. He watched for the pupil to respond. It did. Jim placed his hand carefully on McCoy's forehead and leaned forward. "I don't see or smell any vomit. I don't think he's aspirated anything." He patted McCoy's cheeks.

_Not moving a muscle. He's completely out of it!_

"Captain?" M'Benga, paused at the door, breathing hard from his sprint from MedBay. Behind him were his trauma response team. Before Jim could respond M'Benga had stepped in front of him as he ran a medical scanner over McCoy, eyes sweeping over the still form. "I need room, Captain. Wait outside."

Jim found himself steered out of the bedroom and out of the way of the response team before he even realized that Spock had gripped his arm. His hand on Jim's arm tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Have you ever seen him like this before, Captain?" Spock watched Jim carefully.

"No. I mean, even dead drunk, McCoy is never completely out of it." Jim thought back through all the years he'd known McCoy. "Not like that. And he never drank or took anything that might knock him out if he knew he had a Med shift the next morning. You know McCoy doesn't mess around when it comes to his responsibilities and his patients."

Spock nodded, releasing Jim's arm and clasping his hands behind his back. "And as there is no sign of an alcohol container, nor any glasses he'd have used, I'd not suspect an overindulgence."

Jim strained to hear what M'Benga was ordering his people to do in the other room. A gurney was brought in by one of the nurses and steered toward McCoy's bedroom. "He was really tired last evening, around dinner time. Still had some lab work to do. Maybe he took something."

"I did not see any prescription bottles in the bedroom, nor a hypo, although he could have taken something earlier. I will check the Refresher room to see if he had left anything in there, to be thorough. If M'Benga had not prescribed him anything, he'll want to know what McCoy could have prescribed for himself. It is also unusual that the Doctor didn't undress for bed. I highly doubt he intended to sleep in his foot ware. That, and with the fact that he is not known for either missing meetings nor the start of his shift, I do not think this was anything McCoy planned on happening."

Jim chewed on his lip, nodding at Spock to make the search. He stayed back as the gurney glided by, clenching his hands to keep from reaching out to McCoy's still form.

"I can't tell you anything yet," M'Benga said with a distracted frown as he followed the gurney out of the door. "I'll let you know."

Jim nodded. Suddenly the room was empty for everyone except for Spock, who left the 'fresher and went to the small replicator nook. It was not a real kitchen, in that sense that nothing was ever cooked. It just contained the replicator itself, some cupboards and drawers to store items that a crew member didn't want to lose by tossing into the recycler. A small sink for washing those items. A small bar with two stools, smaller than the one in Jim's cabin, with room for a couple of people to eat a meal. A place Jim had eaten many times with his friend. Here, too, nothing seemed out of place. Spock tapped queries on the replicator. It flashed back responses.

"Dr. McCoy has not used this replicator for several days," Spock announced, studying the technical response on the screen. "Breakfast. He had only coffee and some oatmeal, with milk and honey at the time."

"Yeah, that's his usual on a busy morning." Jim looked at Spock. "He ate breakfast with me yesterday morning. Last night he was going to grab a sandwich from the Officer's Mess. I don't know what he did about lunch."

"I can have the logs checked. But for the moment, I think we can count out food poisoning from this device. If there is a problem with the replicators in general, there would be some signs of it from other passengers or crew members. His condition could also be caused by a gas, although, once again, there doesn't seem to be any evidence of it. Or something he ate or drank from another source."

"I want Scotty to check out this replicator anyway. Get your people to start checking all the water supplies. Just in case. Find out what he had for lunch and from where."

Spock nodded. "Yes, Captain."

_Which cuts out the easiest explanations._ Jim thought. He looked at Spock and could tell that the First Officer was thinking along the same lines as he was.

"Which leaves medical." Jim closed his eyes and sighed, knowing what Spock would say next.

"It would be logical," Spock said softly, "for a doctor to be one of the first affected by an illness brought on board ship. Some simple malady for one species—"

"Could mutate into something deadly in another," Kirk finished, nodding. "I know. McCoy's worst nightmare. One he's always sharing with me. And we have a ship full of different species. Various,  _important_  species."

"Of whom any, or all, could be a target for those who wish the conference at Babel to fail."

"So, add sabotage, assassination… all kinds of dangerous things in there. First things first." Jim rubbed his face. "Okay. We'll take the first few steps until we get more information. Contact Starfleet and let them know what's going on and that we've just started investigating. They'll need to decide if we need to contact the UFP Council at Babel. We've got a few days before we're due to arrive, so we should know a lot more by then. Let's not push that panic button until we know we've got something to worry about."

"Agreed." Spock nodded. "I will get the investigation started." He turned and left McCoy's quarters.

Jim was left alone in his friend's room. A room he spent almost as much time in as his own. Strangely, it seemed foreign to him now, without McCoy in it.

_Damn it, Bones! What the hell happened last night?_

 

***

 

Ambassador Sha'na'tic held his cup of seeth with both hands, letting the heat from the hot liquid comfort him. Eyes closed, he tried to calm himself by ignoring the agitated pacing of Vena'k and the fearful hovering of Quen'fa. He knew the seeth would bother him later, but he needed the calmness the drink gave him to help him think. Vena'k's mood was almost frantic. His trum, or what the Federation Translators had defined as _hair_ , was unbraided and writhing, forming a white cloud around Vena'k's head and trailing behind him when he moved. The power he was pulling in through the sensitive strands gave the air a static charge that made Sha'na'tic's joints ache. He knew Quen'fa must be in agony from it.

_Quen'fa and I will soon be in more pain than this,_ he thought tiredly.  _Somewhere, somehow, we have failed. Either in our information gathering, our implementation, our execution, or our choice of subject. Suffering now can only prepare us for the torture to come when Vana'k and the other Elite decide to place blame. Because I don't see Vena'k lowering himself to share in any of it._

"Vena'k," Sha'na'tic called sharply. The younger man stopped and glared at him. Sha'na'tic gentled his voice and used the honorific that grated on him, but Vena'k enjoy too much. " _Sire._  It is too late. You just wear yourself out and make your elders ache. You heard the report from Am'nuke. They have found the Doctor and have taken him to MedBay. Even if you could regain control of him, he would be useless to us."

Vena'k's trum settled about his shoulders, no longer trying to make a connection with their chosen host.

"Sha'na'tic is right, Sire," Quen'fa chimed in, fear in his voice. "They will keep him under watch. Even if he regains consciousness, he will be seen as ill. He will not be fit to perform his regular duties, let alone allowed any access to the other Ambassadors."

"It should not have failed!" Vena'k shouted. He strode to a nearby table, sweeping the contents to the floor in anger. The sound of glass breaking didn’t seem to console him. "I had  _physical_  control!" Vena'k formed a fist and shoved it into Sha'na'tic's face. "It was  _there_. But it just… By the time I had him up and walking to his quarters I could feel the connection start to fail. I tried to access his conscious mind, but it was too soon. If I'd been able to keep in contact, by the start of his next shift I would have been in complete control."

Sha'na'tic nodded. "Yes. It should have worked on a human. We have enough of them under our control to have been certain it  _should have_  worked. And while we need to find out why we could not turn the Doctor into our instrument, our main concern now is that our participation not be discovered by the others." Sha'na'tic set down his drink and took to pacing the small room. "I have instructed Am'nuke and Zu'ma to keep mingling with the other passengers and crew. They will let us know what word gets out about the incident. I doubt the Captain wants any hysterics over this, and doubt there will be any grand announcement. So we will watch and see how any of their schedules change. What word does get about and how it is spread." He walked over to Quen'fa, who had backed himself into a corner, as he usually did when he wished not to draw attention to himself. "Quen'fa. Our problem is that they will now have good reason to examine the Doctor. What will they find?"

Quen'fa shrugged slightly. "The early studies show no known remnants in the host, once the shimtree makes its changes in the brain and then is flushed out. Once the normal brain cells have their DNA corrupted, it makes mental connection and control by our people possible from a distance. There should be no sign unless a DNA scan is performed and compared to an earlier one. I would not think they would do such a test unless they suspected that that is what we've tried to do."

"And how long does this take for humans, before full conscious control?" Sha'na'tic had studied the reports and already knew the answer. But he wanted to be sure.

"That usually is fairly instant in our kind, but humans need to sleep for at least four hours before the change is fully complete. That is why we wanted to catch Doctor McCoy alone, in the evening."

"So I could still reach him?" Vena'k asked, looking hopeful. His trum shivered. "He has been unconscious longer than that. Wouldn't that mean the shimtree is still working on him?"

"I don't know, Sire." Quen'fa looked as if a thought had just struck him. "The distance may be a problem. We've not tried this on a moving spaceship before. If you were closer—"

"But the closer he gets, the more humans will be around," Sha'na'tic reminded him. "We can't let them see Vena'k's trum active. The Federation does not know that much about us. If they should find out we have such mental abilities they would no longer trust us." He looked at Vena'k. "Maybe if either Quen'fa or I tried to force the connection---"

"No! He's mine, and if anyone controls him it will be  _me_ ," Vena'k snarled. He took a deep breath and calmed a bit. "I was introduced as Quen'fa's aide. Would it not be usual for a Healer to offer his services in this matter? Even if he does not expect to be taken up on the offer? We should go back."

"I still do not see them letting you very close to him. They're very protective of their own," Sha'na'tic reminded him.

Vena'k glared at them both. "We have no choice. We must get to the Doctor and see if I can yet make complete contact. I should be able to tell something of what has happened, even if my trum must remain bound and less effective. If there is any danger of them finding out what we've tried to do, then all our plans are in vain. We must get rid of the Doctor in that case."

Sha'na'tic held up a hand. "No. They will do an autopsy in the case of his death. While he may yet die, since I have no idea what has impeded the shimtree's progress, we should hope that he lives." Sha'na'tic sighed. "That will at least buy us time. A chance to salvage this may appear in the future."

"I could try for the Captain next, as I wished to in the first place!" Vena'k grumbled. "We have one more dose of shimtree left. To have a Starfleet Captain under my control, especially one so famous-–"

"His actions are too closely scrutinized," Sha'na'tic objected. He thought back to all their intelligence gathering on the various members they had wanted to put under Quarlian control. "Any abnormal behavior would be noticed immediately. Not all in Starfleet trust Kirk and those few who dislike him would interfere. But the Doctor is more of a _loose cannon_ , as they say. Prone to outbursts and much too indulged by his friend, the Captain. Too valued by Starfleet to force him into leaving the ship against his will, yet with future access to all kinds of medical facilities should he wish to be reassigned or retire. Kirk would give him a lot of leeway if we should have him act in an incorrect manner. Leave to the Doctor the power of persuasion over the Captain. The Doctor has Kirk's trust, access to his quarters, his computer, his orders... And he can affect the ship as a whole if we chose to stop or divert it in some way. No…Either we get control of the Doctor or wait until we reach the conference and find another Starfleet officer we can use. There will be plenty of them attending."

The door chimed and all three froze. Sha'na'tic waved to Vena'k, who glared at him but retired to one of the small bedrooms attached to the suite. Sha'na'tic waited until he was behind closed doors before opening the door to the corridor. He relaxed when he saw Zu'ma. The aide swept into the room, her long robes sweeping the floor. Her trum, bound into many tight braids, gave her an illusion of height. Her large, deep purple eyes could be mesmerizing when she wished. Even for a Quarlian, Sha'na'tic knew that she was considered extraordinarily beautiful. They were counting on that to loosen the tongue of those males and females of all the species aboard, to let slip things they probably shouldn't. Zu'ma was good at her job. Sha'na'tic thought she enjoyed being the one to bring her elders the information they needed.

Sha'na'tic chimed Vena'k's door and the younger man returned to the room. He'd managed to braid his trum into two quick braids, one on either side of his head. "It's just Zu'ma."

Zu'ma nodded at both Vena'k and Quen'fa. "There has been no formal announcement of the Doctor's condition. But the crew that knows is upset, although hiding it well. As always, information travels fast among co-workers. The removal of the Doctor from his quarters to the MedBay was witnessed by some crew, but not by any of the passengers that I know of. There is no news of his condition, but they've just been able to start their examination."

"And the Captain?"

"He and the First Officer are still on-duty and not at the MedBay. Most assume that they are in contact with Starfleet about the matter."

"Their suspicions?" Sha'na'tic asked.

"I got the impression that there was concern about there being the possibility of a virus."

"That could be useful," Quen'fa remarked.

"Am'nuke," She continued, "told me that there has been no adjustment to our anticipated arrival to Babel. She is watching for schedule changes and any information that may circulate amongst the aides to the various Ambassadors." She smiled. "Am'nuke is popular amongst the other aides and says that talk amongst them flies faster than it does amongst the crew. She will stay in place until she hears something you need to know, while avoiding those other telepaths."

Sha'na'tic turned toward Quen'fa. "McCoy hasn't been in MedBay long and they should be doing all sort of tests. Go with Vena'k and see if they can tell you anything."

Quen'fa looked nervous. "Our excuse for being there? If the passengers don't know the Doctor has become ill--"

Sha'na'tic tried not to sigh in frustration at Quen'fa's slowness. "You sent Vena'k there with some trimmander to reproduce for us, remember?"

Vena'k glowered at Quen'fa and explained. "Humans record everything, idiot. Someone would have seen the Doctor and I meet and go to the labs, enter the empty one. He probably recorded it in his daily log. The log into the lab will be recorded. Someone would have seen us walk to his cabin together, afterwards. Seen me leave it later. It is better if we go to them now and ask about the Doctor's progress with the trimmander. Then be surprised when they tell us his condition. If we offer the information now that they would certainly ask us later, we can look just as confused as they are about his condition. Then they will accept our statements at face value since we are so concerned and co-operative."

"Yes, yes. I see," Quen'fa replied.

"You'd better," Vena'k growled.

"Oh," Quen'fa added, looking concerned. "What will Vena'k say about his accompanying the Doctor to his quarters? I don't—"

"That part of the plan can stay the same," Sha'na'tic replied. "Vena'k and the Doctor were going to spend the night together. The Doctor is unattached and Vena'k is a lowly aide. No one will care who the Doctor is bedding, as long as we do not complain or fuss. But after arriving at the Doctor's cabin, Vena'k will say the Doctor felt ill and sent him away. That will be all Vena'k knows of the matter."

"We had best leave." Vena'k stood by the door, waiting for Quen'fa to proceed him. "Until we know _if_  they can figure out what has happened, we won't know our next steps. We're wasting time."

As soon as the door closed behind the two, Sha'na'tic headed toward his neglected cup of seeth. He set it in the replicator to re-warm, his mind churning as it had all night while waiting for the Doctor to be found. It had been a horrible blow to have had their plans go so awry.

_Vena'k will cause problems,_ Sha'na'tic worried.  _His family is so powerful, he chafes at taking orders from me. Let alone pretending to take them from Quen'fa. I will have to watch that he doesn't try to take the Captain. Vena'k has a taste for the stars and he would fancy owning one who traveled them. He thinks it would be easy. Like the Elite thought_ **this** _would be easy._

And it  _had_  been easy for Vena'k's family, and the rest of the Elite, for an untold amount of their history. Only the secret files kept by the Elite themselves could tell how many decades the politics and culture of the Quarlian people had been influenced, and infested, by shimtree and those who had been taken over by it. No one but the Elite and those under their power even knew where shimtree originally came from or how it was made. All Sha'na'tic knew was that it indigenous to their planet and was rare. Very rare. Only certain members of the Elite were allowed to use it and fewer still to make their own choices of who they would take on as minions.

_If Vulcan had not been lost, and so few of its people left, would the Elite have even dared such a grand scheme?_

Sha'na'tic wasn't sure they would have. At least, not for another few generations. By then their secret would surely have come out. The Vulcans were touch telepaths and so far the Federation had not noticed that the Quarlians avoided Vulcans when they could. And when they couldn't, the Vulcan aversion to being touched helped to keep the Quarlians' secret. Because the Quarlians did not want the Federation to know that they were telepaths. And it only helped when the original Federation translators mistranslated the word for trum as 'hair'. So, the Quarlians kept their secret so far. But Sha'na'tic knew that eventually they would be discovered. Time was never going to be on their side in this.

_And yet, the Elite won't admit that their plans have a large flaw. Vulcan falls, and what I saw as a horrible, unthinkable tragedy, the Elite see as an opening ready for them to fill. Their greed will destroy us, one way or another._

He took a sip of his seeth, trying to enjoy the warm bitterness and the soothing of his aging joints from the cup's heat.

_We are all fools. Individually and collectively. We keep it from ourselves and pretend we are wise. Making the truth the worst secret of all._

 

***

 

Someone was calling to him.

A murky flow of confusing sensation pulled the words farther from him and he forgot for a moment that something had pulled his attention from the darkness. But he remembered that there was something important he needed to do. If only the world around him would stop moving and churning with sounds and colors that made no sense. As he twisted and turned in the quickly moving streams of things that had no name, he saw that slowly, those things started to coalesce into shapes. Small bits of color, light, sound, and vibration formed larger chunks. All forming into more familiar objects.

_Someone called. Who am I?_

Names came to the forefront of his thoughts. _Leonard, Bones, Leo, Len, Doctor, Doc…_ But he wasn't sure which one he had awoken to.

_Am I awake? Where am I?_

He struggled to identify his location. Slowly, memory connected the solidifying scene before him.

_MedBay. Busy. Emergency? Have to snap out of it. They need me._

The moment he thought of someone needing him, the fog around him started to clear. He was in the main entrance to the MedBay, past the triage desk. People, of all species, were coming and going. Some were waiting to talk to the admitting nurse. Others were heading back into the main corridor, looking tired but well. Those in crew uniforms he felt he knew. The others, not in uniform, he felt were strangers.

_All the different passengers on the ship. The trip to Babel. Busy, busy, busy but most look well._ He felt confused.  _No emergencies here. Nothing M'Benga or Davidson can't handle when I'm off-shift._   _Am I off-shift?_

He felt a jolt, fear and embarrassment that maybe he'd overslept running through him.  _Am I late? Was I called in early?_

Thinking of himself disoriented him again. Something was wrong.

He didn't  _fit_.

He tried to lift his hands to his face, but nothing happened. He tried to look at his hands.

_What the hell?!_ His perception twisted down and to the side as if he were turning his head. But he saw no hands. And no body.

Fear flooded through him, only a second later to be followed by the amusing thought,  _I can't have a panic attack if I have no body. No adrenaline rush. Buck up, Doctor._

Just thinking it seemed to calm him a bit.

_Ok. No body. But I_ **can** _see. Perceive my surroundings. I know_ **where** _I am. No one seems to see me. I just don't know_ **what** _I am._

WHOOOSH

McCoy felt a sickening jolt and the room once again spun out of kilter. As it righted itself a second later, he was looking at the back of the head of a young crewman.

_Shit! He must have walked right through me! Okay. No more of that. But how do I move?_

That was a good question. While he felt like he had a body, as in he didn't feel numb anywhere, like he was all  _there_ , he didn't feel like he could move anything. He wasn't floating, but it was close to that kind of sensation.

_My perception is about right for my height. I don't feel like I'm shorter or taller._ He once again looked around the room. He then realized something.  _I can see people talk. Hear the sounds, but it's like background noise._

He tried to concentrate on the voices, but even the conversation of the people standing close to him seemed thick and mumbled. It was like trying to understand someone talking with an unknown accent while underwater. It was then that he saw Nurse Branson come up to the triage desk. She leaned over the shoulder of the admitting nurse, looked at his screen and said something.

_If I can just concentrate on one at a time…_

And as he thought about wanting to get closer to the young nurse, he felt himself move in that direction. And as he drew closer he could feel a bit of a buzz coming off the two nurses. It was like a subsonic vibration and as soon as he realized he wanted to avoid them his path circled around them.

_Okay. I can move. Thank God!_

As he came closer to Branson, he could feel the vibration around her. It felt familiar, as if he was used to hearing it around him. He stopped next to her, far enough away that the vibration wasn't annoying but close enough to overhear her conversation if he'd been standing there as a physical being. He watched Branson's mouth, trying to make out her words.

"Dwleh Mgha ss sill exmingDotor McCoy," Branson was saying to Nurse Jacobs in a low voice. McCoy felt a jolt at recognizing his name as the words became clearer. "There's no news yet."

Jacobs looked sideways at Branson. The nurse kept his face professionally blank but McCoy could see that he was worried. "Is he conscious?"

"No." Branson sighed. "M'Benga pulled in Doctor Sessket and Doctor Davidson from off-shift, to take a look."

Jacobs frowned, his eyes still on the screen and the waiting patients in front of him. "Sessket specializes in neurological disorders. That can't be good."

"I think they've ruled out a virus," Branson whispered. "There's no quarantine order. So, there's that at least."

Jacobs nodded. "Good. That would be a mess." He nodded almost imperceptibly at the waiting patients in front of him. "If it came to that, this lot would be storming our gates, each of them sure they'd contracted whatever it was we were trying to keep from them. At least there's nothing much wrong with this lot. Just some bumps, scrapes, rashes, and some upset stomachs. The latter I suspect from trying new foods they're not compatible with. You ready for the next one?"

Branson glanced back into the MedBay, which was now mostly screened off. She nodded. "Peterman should be free. He just needed a quick 'fresher break after that last patient. I told him I'd give him a couple of minutes."

_Okay. I'm not dead. I have a body somewhere. That's good. But what happened? 'Cause I swear to God if I've been screwed up by one of Scotty's transporters, I'm going to haunt that man forever! Why can't I remember what happened?_

The last thing he really remembered was eating a sandwich in his office while trying to catch up on a ton of paperwork. A project that never seemed to end on a quiet day and had been totally impossible during this assignment. But he couldn't even remember what kind of sandwich it was.

As he was trying to concentrate on remembering, there was a sudden jolt in the atmosphere. It was as if the air were suddenly super-charged. He could feel a wave of it was headed his way. Looking toward the source, startled, he saw the MedBay doors open. Jim and Spock came in.

_Hell, is that Jim?_ As the Captain and First Officer strode further into the room, it was as if he could almost hear the thoughts of the two men in the electric vibration they carried. Jim's felt like ball lightning. If McCoy could see it, he felt like it would look like a pre-supernova just moments before the explosion, with tendrils flailing out and around him.  _Yeah, Jim always does feel like a rolling ball of thunder when he's in a dark mood._

It was clear to McCoy that James Kirk  _was_  more than just concerned. He was upset, worried and looking for answers. Right now he was  _The Captain_ and going to  _find_  those answers if he had to dig them out of the universe with his bare hands. His stride was quick and forceful, demanding that everyone around him give way as was his due. He nodded slightly at some of the occupants as he passed, a polite acknowledgment that didn't invite further contact. His stony expression certainly not initiating any.

To Jim's right and one pace behind was Spock. The Vulcan's face was closed off, his hands behind his back. Yet McCoy could tell that he, too, was concerned. There was just something about Spock that people who knew him could read, but was invisible to others. Spock's 'vibe' was more contained, but felt as powerful as Jim's. It was like Spock was an old-style factory, with a huge combustion engine churning steadily inside. You could stand outside such a building and feel that there was something big going on inside, but not have access enough to find out what it was. As they passed him, Kirk nodded to both nurses. McCoy felt that there was a connection between Jim and the First Officer. Spock's control and intensity feeding Kirk's energy and constant evaluation of his surroundings.

It felt like where he  _should_  be.

Without thinking about it, McCoy somehow latched onto the two, letting them drag him along with them. He found himself drifting next to Spock, a pace and to the left of Jim. For just a second he let himself wonder what his 'vibe' would have looked like to the other two if they'd been in his position.

The trip through MedBay was quick. As they came to the end of the open triage area, to the CMO's office and the hallways that led to private treatment areas and recuperation rooms, Doctor Davidson came forward to greet the Captain and First Officer.

"Is there any news?" Jim Kirk demanded.

"Only negative answers so far, Captain," Davidson said apologetically. "Let me see if Doctor M'Benga is available. He's lead on this case and can be more precise."

The Captain nodded and Dr. Davidson took off down the hall to get Doctor M'Benga.

_Oh, shit, this is going to get weird,_ McCoy thought.  _If I'm not dead, am I dying? Is this what always happens when people die? How long have I been this way?_

The hole in his memory didn't seem to be filling and he wasn't even sure how much time he was missing.

_Well, that's just great. What am I supposed to do now? If I can't communicate, or help, then why the hell am I here?_

"He's going to be okay," Jim whispered so only Spock could hear him. Arms across his chest, eyes on the floor, Jim took a large breath. "I want to believe that."

"The Doctor is a strong man," Spock said quietly, leaning toward the Captain. He was watching him closely. "You know he will fight to regain his health. Whatever is wrong with him, he will not give up."

"I know," the Captain admitted. "But sometimes, no matter how hard you try…"

Spock only tilted his head, as if to say he too knew how badly things could go.

_Damn it, Jim. I'm still here and I intend to stay!_ McCoy's frustration grew.  _Don't let this trip you up, Kid._

Doctor M'Benga came down the hall, Davidson close behind. M'Benga looked grim. "Captain, he's alive and stable," he said. "But I don't know what happened to him, or why he's still unconscious. I can only say that we're as certain as we can be that this isn't caused by anything that's contagious. We've run all the tests and haven't found anything that would suggest it."

_Which doesn't mean there's nothing to find,_ McCoy added mentally.  _We can only test for the shit we know about. It's the unknown stuff that burns our ass. And with the crowd on the ship now, there's a whole lot of that unknown going around._

"Has Scotty given you samples from the replicators McCoy used yesterday? Have you gotten samples from the ship's kitchen?"

M'Benga nodded. "Mr. Scott sent them. Preliminary lab tests are showing nothing unusual, but we've got a lot of other tests we can run them through. I'm having the Ship's Kitchen gone over with a fine-tooth comb, just in case."

The Captain nodded.

"Have you finished your usual neurological tests?" Spock asked.

"According to the basic tests, his brain seems to be fine, physically. No strokes or anything like that. Dr. Sessket is checking him out right now, as neurology is his specialty." M'Benga sighed and shook his head. "Captain, this is one of those cases where we're not going to have a quick answer for you. There are so many things we need to check out, and a lot of them take time."

McCoy could tell how disappointed Jim was. And that he was trying hard not to let it show.

"I'll need an immediate report of all the data you have showing that you don't think this is a virus. Starfleet will want to know as soon as possible. If you don't feel that this is a quarantine situation," the Captain trailed off, once again checking for M'Benga's reaction. M'Benga shook his head. "Then I'm sure Starfleet will be relieved to hear that. As we are. Of course, any other similar signs or symptoms from other patients must be immediately reported to either me or Spock. And Doctor," the Captain added, "as acting CMO, don't hesitate to push that button if you think you need to. I'd rather have this whole ship pissed off but safe behind quarantine, than to have something spread to the outside."

M'Benga looked a little put out by that.

_He knows his job, Jim._

"I do know my job, Captain," M'Benga said quietly.

The Captain nodded. "I know and didn’t mean to indicate otherwise. I just want you to know I'll back you all the way."

M'Benga relaxed. "I understand, Sir. Thank you." He glanced down the hall and signaled to someone further down. "Dr. Sessket seems to be on his way out. I'll have him report to both of us on his findings."

Everyone's attention turned to the Andorian coming toward them.

_Maybe he'll have found somet----_

Once again, the world whirled around McCoy, pulling him down in a torrent of sound and light until nothing was left.

 

***

 

Jim Kirk stood at the end of the MedBay hall, trying to pay attention to Dr. Sessket's verbal report. He knew that Spock would remember it and probably understand it all, but Jim's mind kept paring down the Doctor's very technical report to two basic facts.  _They don't know and they don't know why they don't know._  The Captain in him was paying attention, but Jim's real attention was drawn to the hallway that led to the room that held McCoy. As if at any moment he could expect McCoy to come striding down it, like he had a hundred times before, to give Jim the report himself.

_At least it wasn’t anything like a stroke or some kind of physical trauma. That has to be good. Bones is a young guy, even if he doesn't act it. And like Spock says, he's strong. We'll just have to dig deeper into what happened to him that put him in this situation, so we can give the Doctors something to work with._

"I'm afraid that is all I can tell you," Dr. Sessket said, his antenna pulled back from his face, showing that he was not happy. "But I will run further tests."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jim said. "Can I see him?"

Dr. Sessket nodded. "As you wish, Captain. I can escort you—"

"No need," Jim interrupted. "Mr. Spock will be looking further into Doctor McCoy's movement's yesterday. If you could help him with anything you saw or heard, that would help. I can find McCoy's room myself."

Jim turned and started down the hallway without waiting for a reply. He knew these rooms, knew which room McCoy would be in. He saw him first through the clear observation window. Even though he knew what to expect, it was a jolt.

_He doesn't really look asleep, does he? People say that about unconscious patients, but I've seen Bones asleep. He's too still for that. There's just something about him when he's asleep that's always moving, always partly aware. Especially when he dreams._

The room was dim but filled with the flickering blue, red and green lights that showed the multitude of machines that kept watch. This biobed was state of the art, able to not only read its patient's vital signs, but could even take over for the body if a heart should stop, or lungs quit filling with air. It could protect the patient in a sterile field, compress torn arteries, provide and regulate IV's. It would provide everything a patient could need except for, as McCoy like to put it, the human touch. There were so many things these marvels of the medical world could do, except make the kind of deductions, have the kind of gut instincts and judgment that a _real_  healer had. It couldn't tell them what it wasn't programmed to look for.

_When the best Healer on the ship is sick, who heals_ **him** _? Does Bones ever worry about that? Probably not. He trusts his people. And he never worries about himself that much._

Jim nodded at the nurse who stood behind the monitoring console. "Can I have a minute, please?"

She nodded and left, turning the clear window opaque before the doors slid shut behind her.

Jim walked to the side of the bed and folded his fingers between McCoy's unresponsive ones. They were soft and warm. Jim took a small amount of comfort in that. He'd always loved McCoy's hands. The things they could do to him.

"Hey, Old Man," Jim said softly, eyes watching McCoy's face closely. "No fair taking a few days off in the middle of this mess. I've got all this work pouring down on me and you take some time off for a nap. Not fair." He squeezed Bones' hand. There was no response either from McCoy or the machines that watched him. "But the crew is taking good care of you. You'd be proud of them. But they need you back, to tell them what to look for. They're good, but they're not as good as you."

And that, Jim knew, was true. As good as McCoy's hand-picked crew was, McCoy was better. And Jim wasn't the only one who had a healthy respect for McCoy's talents.

_One of these days Starfleet Medical, or one of those huge civilian companies, is going to make you an offer you can't refuse and I'm going to lose you,_ Jim thought sadly.  _You probably don't even know I hear about all the offers you get. Of all the research jobs, the grants that go with them, your pick of postings that come your way. I have a few little birds in high places that let me know when they take a decent stab at stealing you from the Enterprise. You could demand anything and Starfleet Medical would turn itself into knots getting it for you. Yet, you turn them all down. But one of these days, they really will offer you the job of a lifetime. Then what will I do?_

He could hear McCoy's matter-of-fact reply in his head.  _Soldier on, Kid. That's what you always do._

_But that's not what I **want**  to do. I can't even imagine being here without you.  _ Jim reached up with his free hand and touched a bit of stray hair on McCoy's forehead and smoothed it back into place.  _Do I even have the right to ask you to stay? Do you think I take you for granted?_

The thought haunted him. Jim placed the palm on the side of McCoy's face. His thumb rubbing a cheekbone.  _You wake up and I promise I'll actually say it to you this time._

_I love you, Bones. I think I always have._

 

***

 

As the bits and pieces of his surroundings started to coalesce around him, McCoy fought to focus on them. As he did so, the shapes seemed to merge faster and became solid enough to identify.

He was back at the MedBay triage desk. This time he found himself feeling rooted in place, as if he'd been captured. Before him were two Quarlians, Quen'fa and Vena'k and they were talking to Doctor M'Benga. M'Benga had his "Annoying Interruption but Being Polite" expression on. One they'd all been wearing since being inundated with Ambassadors and staff who were bored and seeking attention.

_At least I remember who they are,_ McCoy thought.  _So, I do have some memory of the last couple of days._

"I'm sorry, Ambassador, but Doctor McCoy is indisposed," M'Benga said with a forced smile. "If I could help you?"

"Oh, I don’t think so," Quen'fa replied, his smile just as forced. "Doctor McCoy was to have processed some trimmander for us. It's a mild analgesic. We have run out and the Ambassador would find it most useful at this time."

_That I can recall,_ McCoy thought.  _It should be in my log. I remember entering it._

M'Benga nodded. "I do remember seeing it in his entries, but I'm afraid he hasn't been able to get to it yet. I'm sorry, I'll see what we can do for you. But while you're here…" M'Benga glanced around behind him, then turned back to Quen'fa. "Perhaps you would like to talk to our First Officer about it?"

McCoy saw Quen'fa stiffen. "I suppose, although I don't know why such a small task should garner his attention."

"Thank you, sir," M'Benga said, taking that for an agreement. "Just wait here a moment and I'll see if Mr. Spock is free."

After M'Benga left, the two Quarlians moved to the side of the room, out of the flow of traffic in and out of MedBay.

"He's a Vulcan, isn't he?" Quen'fa asked Vena'k, uncertainty in his voice.

"Don’t say any more than you have to," Vena'k said quietly, but harshly to Quen'fa. "They're taking this very seriously if the First Officer is involved."

_Why do they care if he's a Vulcan?_ McCoy wondered.  _It's not like they're known to bite people._

Only a moment later, Spock arrived. After a few pleasantries, Spock shepherded the Quarlians into M'Benga's office.

_Too bad he didn't pick mine. Maybe something there would jar my memory._ Although McCoy did have to admit that M'Benga's was a lot neater than his usually was.

"Healer Quen'fa and Mr. Vena'k," Spock began after having the Quarlians sit in the two guest chairs. He stayed standing and looked at his PADD, then at the two men. "Thank you for speaking to me. Unfortunately, Doctor McCoy is not well at the present time, and we would like to make sure that nothing aboard the ship would cause any… aggravation or irritation to anyone else. I hope you understand."

Both Quarlians nodded.

"I see in my records that you, Healer Quen'fa, Mr. Vena'k, and the Ambassador himself paid a visit to MedBay yesterday afternoon. Doctor McCoy's reports indicate that the Ambassador was suffering from some sort of head pain and you wished to have him synthesize some replacement for your regular remedy, trimmander, that you had run out of. Is this correct?"

_That sounds right,_ McCoy thought.

Both Quarlians nodded. "Yes, that's right," Vena'k agreed. "The Doctor was very obliging."

"How did he seem at the time?"

Quen'fa looked at Vena'k. "He seemed well," Vena'k replied. "When I came back later, with the trimmander sample that we had left, he was very well. In fact, he actually… flirted with me."

_I did what?!_ McCoy thought in astonishment.  _Oh, hell **no**. No way, no how!_

McCoy's surprise was echoed by Spock, who raised an eyebrow and studied Vena'k closely. "You are certain of this?" Spock asked neutrally.

"Oh, yes, he was very taken with me." Vena'k smiled smugly. "When we went to the lab, he asked me a lot of questions about our world. About me, personally. He asked me to his cabin for a drink. Since he is very… fetching for a human, I decided to accept. I hope that doesn't get him into trouble."

Spock typed something into his PADD. McCoy tried to move closer to the Vulcan but found that he was unable to get very far from Vena'k.

_Jim's gonna hear about this and he's not going to believe it. He can't!_

McCoy found that he felt uncomfortable about the fact that Spock might.  _He's not stupid. Even though Jim and I've tried to keep it under the table, Spock has certainly figured it out._

And yet… McCoy had to admit that they did flirt with others on occasion. It had just been in the last few months that they both found themselves being exclusive, even when they had the chance to 'fish outside their own pier' at various starbases and planets they found time to visit. He had been thinking about it a lot lately. The time he'd spent with Jim filled a need that McCoy didn't even realize he'd had. He wondered if Jim even felt the same way. He'd never actually told Jim he loved him, or that he wanted anything more than the casual sex they'd been enjoying more and more as time wore on. He hadn't even realized it himself until they'd been scheduled to hit Risa for a few days off, and a part of him had panicked at the thought that Jim would want to spend it tomcatting around with strangers. They both had skirted around the issue until the stop itself had been canceled. Then he'd known what it was he wanted. He'd just never worked up the nerve to tell Jim.

_I guess if **I** _   _didn't realize it was getting that serious for me, Jim wouldn't either. Let alone Spock._

There was a chime at the door. While the Quarlians seemed surprised at the interruption, Spock didn't. Spock pressed the 'admit' sensor and the door opened to reveal the Captain.

_Oh, shit. Now I know what Spock typed into his PADD._ McCoy realized that they were only doing their best to figure out what had happened last night, but McCoy felt like he'd been caught with his pants down and felt bad for Jim.  _This can't be easy on him._

"Healer Quen'fa, Mr. Vena'k," Jim said formally, wearing his most charming smile. "Thank you for talking to my First Officer. I'm afraid that I've not had the pleasure of speaking with you personally since your arrival."

Quen'fa seemed a bit stunned, but Vena'k seemed to take the Captain's arrival as a good omen. He almost purred with happiness as he stood and, clearly avoiding Spock, and held out his hand. "Captain! Thank you for such a warm welcome. I am very thrilled to meet such a famous member of Starfleet. I’m so honored."

_Well, isn't he the cutest little ass kisser,_ McCoy thought with annoyance as the Captain shook the Quarlian's hand.  _Like Jim hasn't seen that act a million times already._

"I appreciate you both talking to us about this," the Captain said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "There is some ship's business that we need to take care of and I appreciate your help." He nodded toward Spock and went to sit down behind M'Benga's desk. "Please continue."

"Mr. Vena'k was telling me about Doctor McCoy asking him back to his quarters, for a drink."

The Captain's expression didn't change. The smile stayed, but McCoy could see his eyes tighten. "Did he, Mr. Vena'k? I hope he wasn't in any way… inappropriate."

"Oh, no, Sir. I do not have much experience with humans. But I am…" Vena'k smiled prettily as he eyed the Captain, "eager to expand my knowledge. His attention was welcome, I assure you."

"Was this before or after you left MedBay for the lab?" Spock asked.

"Oh, he flirted a bit before," Vena'k said. "But actually asked me at the lab."

"How long were you in the lab?" Spock continued.

"Oh, about… I'm not sure I have Federation time completely worked out," Vena'k admitted. "About 75 Quarlian ventons I would estimate?" He looked over to Quen'fa, who blinked in surprise.

"That would be about… 25… maybe 35 Federation minutes, I would say," Quen'fa answered weakly. "But I have to admit I'm not used to thinking in Federation time, myself."

_They're hedging on the time,_ McCoy decided, noticing how Quen'fa looked at Vena'k for approval of his answer.  _Whatever happened, they don't want to have to swear to what it was. They must know that our trips out in the corridor were recorded somehow, somewhere, on the ship. So, either they really don't know, or they want us to think they don't._

"And was the Doctor able to synthesize the trimmander replacement for you?" Spock asked.

_That I don’t remember doing. Although I think the trip to_ _the lab is coming back to me._

"Actually…" Vena'k seemed unsure about what to say. "He didn't. He ran a sample but said that he didn’t have the correct compounds handy. It seems we got to talking while we waited for the analysis to be finished. He seemed taken with me, and I with him. We flirted for a bit. He offered to make the compound for us the next morning... and… well… the Doctor was very forward. Not that I minded, of course," Vena'k added hastily. "And while we all have studied human culture, among others, I do assume that I understood his… invitation correctly."

"You expected a sexual encounter with the Doctor, in his quarters," Spock said in a matter of fact voice.

The Captain winced and McCoy would have too if he could.  _Yeah, just rip through those niceties, Spock._

Vena'k didn't flinch. "Yes, I did."

"Did you actually have sexual relations with Doctor McCoy?"

Jim's eyes were sharp on Vena'k at Spock's question.

"No. I'm afraid we talked a bit more and had a drink. But the Doctor begged off after it became quite late. The drink must not have agreed with him. Then I left."

"Spock?" The Captain asked, holding out his hand. Spock handed him the PADD. The Captain typed something, then handed it back. Spock glanced at it.

"How long were you and Doctor McCoy in his cabin?"

"Oh, there's Federation time again," Vena'k shrugged in the human style. "I was actually at the end of my duties and not expected back to our suite. I had intended to be gone for some time, so I was not really keeping account of it."

"I'm sure that was very disappointing," the Captain remarked, his smile friendly, but fake. "I know that Doctor McCoy is a very generous host. Did he offer you any of his famous tequila? Did he tell you about his place back home? Wonderful view. He does a lot of entertaining there when we're back in the Sol system."

_Tequila? I can't stand the stuff. And no way would anyone think about that storage locker on Luna as a 'place'. It has the 'view' of all the other storage rooms._

"As a matter of fact, he did offer me some of this drink. But I found I was not fond of it. He did talk a bit about his residence on Luna. About his family, his father, on Earth. He asked me many questions about my job and my world as well."

"And then you say he felt sick?" The Captain asked.

"Yes. He said he had been working for a long time, apologized, and asked me if I would mind meeting him at some other time. I agreed."

"Did he describe his symptoms?" Spock asked.

"No. Just that he wasn't feeling well."

Spock looked at Jim and they were all silent for a moment.

McCoy felt stunned.  _What happened to me? Did Vena'k do something to me? Otherwise, why lie like that?_

Jim stood and nodded at the Quarlians, "Thank you for answering our questions. I assume you'll need to be getting back to the Ambassador. If you're in further need of the synthesized trimmander—"

"Oh, no, Captain," Quen'fa jumped in. "Please don't worry about that. I understand your men will be looking into the lighting situation in our suite. I think that will be all the Ambassador needs at this time."

Jim glanced at Spock, who nodded and said, "I see that Mr. Scott's men will be by within the hour to adjust the lighting in the Ambassador's suite."

"Good," Jim replied. "Then I'll let you both get back to work. I hope to have a chance to talk to the Ambassador once more, at the formal reception we have scheduled for all the dignitaries tonight."

"Yes, Captain. Thank you." Quen'fa and Vena'k stood and bowed, then left the room, dragging McCoy with them. He wondered for a moment if he should try to stay with Jim and Spock, see if he could figure out how to make some contact. But the moment was over before he could decide and he found himself dragged down the hall after Quarlians.

 

***

 

Jim sat back down behind M'Benga's desk and rubbed his face. He was tired, frustrated, worried, and now angry. "They lied."

"It would seem so, Captain," Spock agreed.

"You caught which parts they lied about?"

"There were no glasses or containers with alcohol placed on any of the surfaces in the Doctor's cabin and none had been recycled that day. His 'stock' seems to have remained untouched. Nor was there any alcohol detected in the Doctor's system."

"So, unless Vena'k took the glasses with him when he left, that's a lie. And the room McCoy signed into at the lab. Were any of the machines used? Anything processed?"

"No. The room was signed into and recorded as empty when the cleaning crew checked the room in the early morning hours. Doctor McCoy had signed in, but not out," Spock added. "And I assume the Doctor does not drink tequila, nor has a residence on Luna?"

"He hates tequila, which is partly my fault," Jim waved away the questioning look on Spock's face. "And that 'residence' on Luna is a mail locker and storage room, right next to mine. The address just looks like a residence rather than storage. When we ship things home, we have it stored on Luna. Easier to get things to the ship when we're in the area and saves us from shipping things up and down Earth's gravity well even with transporters. And it's a lot less expensive than storage on the Space Station. It's not like either of us has a residence on Earth to send things to. And the address of his locker, when he's not actually in the process of shipping anything, is not publicly known."

Jim waited for Spock to catch on. It only took a fraction of a second.

"That information would be in his personal Starfleet record."

"Bingo." Jim stood and started pacing the small room. "As well as the fact that his only close family is listed as his father. And McCoy doesn't discuss his family with strangers. And Vena'k…."

Jim faltered. Spock just watched him patiently.

_Should I admit to Spock that Bones and I haven't seen anyone else in a while? That I haven't wanted to and I don’t think Bones has either? Of course I should,_ he decided.  _Either I trust him or I don't._

"Spock, he just wouldn't. Not now. Not when… well, I'm sure you're aware that Bones and I are more than just platonic friends."

Spock leaned his head to the side, his eyes softened almost imperceptibly. "I have been under the impression you have both been in a casual, consensual, sexual relationship, yes."

"I think, for both of us, it's become a bit more than casual," Jim admitted. "I'm not sure about Bones, because we've never talked about it, but…I know  _I_  want it to be more."

Spock looked as if he were struggling to find the right question to ask. "Do you mean, as in becoming a romantic couple?"

"Yes," Jim said quietly. "Something permanent and monogamous."

"But you have not said so to McCoy?"

"No," said Jim miserably. "And I should have, before now. But even so, I'm pretty sure he's feeling the same way. He wouldn't just flirt with a stranger, or ask them to his quarters. I'm sure of that."

"Then I will take it as a fact."

Jim studied Spock, looking for any reaction. "Will that be a problem for you, in the future? I'm sure some of the Admirals won't be happy about me and my CMO getting together. And if this thing goes any further, they're bound to find out. They'll be worried about favoritism and all that."

Spock shook his head. "Jim, McCoy is your family, whatever your current relationship status. I've known that from the start. I would not disapprove of a relationship that clearly works so well for both of you."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"So, we know Vena'k was lying about what happened last night. What do we do next?" Jim asked. "We're talking about accusing the Ambassador's staff of...what?"

"At this point, I suggest we contact Admiral Montgomery personally, as a security breach of Federation personnel files will certainly be of interest to Starfleet Security. They may want this handled a specific way, in order to keep the status quo until they can investigate themselves."

"And what about McCoy?" Jim asked tightly. He knew Spock was right, but that didn't help Bones. "Unless we can find out what they did to him, and maybe even why, he could be stuck in this coma. Or even get worse."

Spock nodded. "That is true. But if we confront the Quarlians forcefully, they may not be inclined to talk. Their diplomatic immunity ties our hands. And to accuse them prematurely may give them time to get rid of evidence we have not yet found." Spock took a couple of steps closer to Jim. "Jim. The other doctors may yet discover the problem and find a cure. McCoy is stable and may yet stay that way. Making any overt moves now may make it impossible to eventually discover what was done to him and find a cure."

_If there is one._ Jim nodded. "I'll contact Montgomery now. With all these delegates on board, he'll take my comm personally. You see if you can help the Doctors with their research. There may be some angles of investigation they've overlooked."

"Yes, Captain."

Then a thought accord to him. "Oh, and Spock? That team of Scotty's that's due to adjust the lights in the Quarlian's quarters? While they're there, by invitation, get them to do some surveillance of their own." Jim held up a hand. "Nothing illegal or against regs. If we find anything, I don't want it tainted by _dirty hands_. But they can certainly report on what they see out in the open. Or report what small talk the Quarlians make while they're working. And we can certainly keep a log of what requests they make of the system, how they use the replicators, their water usage, all the ordinary things we keep track of need to be front and center."

"Agreed."

"Let's get to it then."

 

***

 

_I guess it's a good thing I'm not in my body,_ McCoy thought sourly.  _Otherwise, I'd get whiplash from all this jumping around_.

He was in the Quarlian's quarters, with Vena'k and Sha'na'tic facing off against each other. Vena'k had undone his trum and the hair-like mass once again billowed out into a cloud of white.

He's like a medusa on steroids! Why the hell wasn't that in any information I received?  _Does **anyone**  in Starfleet know about this? And why don't they have the same vibes that the others do? Is that part of the problem, that I can't sense them?_

"Could you connect with him?" Sha'na'tic asked anxiously.

"No.  _Nothing_ ," Vena'k admitted angrily, practically throwing himself across the suite with his pacing. His hair flowing like he was dragging it with him through water. "With my trum bound, it's harder to make contact. Not that I ever got a solid hold on him anyway. Maybe if we'd gotten to his room—"

"Oh, they were not going to let us see him. Not once they started questioning us," Quen'fa interjected, his expression grim. "We might have been able to persuade the new Doctor to let us near McCoy. But I don't think we could have persuaded that Captain or First Officer that we had a good reason to visit a comatose patient. If you can't connect to him, you need to turn him off."

McCoy felt a bolt of panic.  _They're going to kill me if they can't get control of me!_

"Of course I tried that, you idiot!" Vena'k yelled at Quen'fa. "To fry all his synapses, I'd have to have some kind of connection, which I don't have. We'd have to do it physically, one of us get in close enough to—"

"Don't be foolish," Sha'na'tic said forcefully. "If you can't get close enough to even pretend to visit him, we certainly won't get close enough to do any physical harm."

Vena'k snarled in anger. "Then we have no choice. I must take the Captain!"

_Jim! Oh, **hell** no! Not on my watch! _

Sha'na'tic sighed, suddenly looking tired and old. "We only have the one dose left and it was only to be used at the conference. If we get there and are unable to proceed, then we will lose the chance to obtain the Elite's next target. They will be furious with us. As they already will be for failing what should have been an easy acquisition."

"It was not my fault!" Vena'k yelled. "I did everything just the way I was supposed to."

"The Elite will not care." Sha'na'tic shook his head. "Which is why we must make sure the next dose of shimtree is saved for a better choice of host and it does not go wrong as well. If we fail, then we will be ended by the Elite."

_Shimtree_ _? Is that what they used on me?_

"And just leave the Doctor alive in the meantime? No. That is too dangerous. He must be taken care of before we leave the ship, or our chance will be gone." Vena'k strode back and forth across the room a few more times. "I  _will_  have the Captain. I have several days to get him alone." He smiled at Sha'na'tic. "Once we have him, then I can use him to get rid of the Doctor. He can be alone with him anytime he chooses and I can be with him. The Captain will know how to end the Doctor without anything coming back upon us. The Elite will then have a Starship Captain to add to their listsand we will be forgiven."

"Vena'k," Sha'na'tic began, "We can't be sure—"

"It's decided!" Vena'k ordered.

_I have to do something to stop this! But what? There has to be something!_

As if on cue, the door chimed and both men froze.

Vena'k opened the door to see the smiling face of Montgomery Scott. "Hello… uh, Greetings," Scotty said looking a bit awkward. In one hand was a large, black case. "I'm from Engineering and I hear you're having a wee problem with some of the ligh'n in your rooms."

Vena'k glared at Scotty, but Sha'na'tic pasted on a weak smile and walked to the door. "Yes, but we are getting ready for the formal dinner tonight. I'm not sure this is a good time."

"Oh, you go ahead and get ready," Scotty said with a smile and a wave of his hand as he stepped into the entry. "I won't be a moment. I'll just take a few readings, check the rooms and tweak some settings and you don't even have to be here. The First Officer sent me the spec's on what your natural ligh'n is like, so I can match it."

"Fine," Vena'k said, quickly losing interest. "Do so."

McCoy tried to latch on to Scotty as he walked by. The Chief Engineer's vibe felt like an effervescent roil of energy.  _Like a large pot of boiling oil,_ McCoy decided as he drifted along closely behind the Chief Engineer. Scotty walked to the large table over in the small kitchenette area. He placed his case in the center and opened it up. Inside were various instruments, none of them he recognized. "I'll just need to take some readings, see what visible and ultraviolet light is bouncing off the walls."

Vena'k disappeared into a bedroom and McCoy was relieved that he wasn't pulled out of the room with him. Sha'na'tic made his excuse and left as well, leaving just Scotty and the unseen McCoy.

_Okay, there has to be some way I can get Scotty's attention. Some way to communicate. I just have to try harder._

Scotty pulled out a small piece of equipment and after punching a few buttons the lights flickered. "So that takes care of that wee problem," Scotty said to himself. Next, he took out a PADD and started typing into it.

Drifting closer, McCoy realized he could feel the power in the device as Scotty held it.  _Damn it, can I mess it up or something? Send a signal to him?_

McCoy tried to reach out to the PADD in Scotty's hand. He felt something 'click' and Scotty stopped and stared at the screen. On it, in the middle of what Scotty had been trying to type, was a number that was clearly not what Scotty had been expecting.

"That's weird," Scotty muttered quietly. Tapping the back button on the small keyboard, he erased the number.

_Damn it, **no**. Don't erase it. _

McCoy reached out again, pretending he was tapping on the digital keyboard itself as he focused harder, trying to picture his own finger making the gesture. There were several clicks in a row.

"Stupid PADD," Scotty muttered angrily as he tried again. McCoy could see that there were more numbers and some letters on the screen mixed in with Scotty's. Scotty scowled and tossed the pad back into the case and picked up another piece of equipment.

_Quit switching on me! I can't get used to one device if you keep switching them._

As Scotty turned it on, McCoy could feel an even stronger pulse of energy from it than the others. As he once again tried to type some command into it McCoy did his best to interrupt. He tried to hit the letters S, O, and S. But the machine only buzzed and Scotty looked at it with annoyance. "Dena' be like that, you piece of shite," he muttered. After a moment, he grabbed the third piece of equipment and pointed it at the overhead lighting assembly. McCoy felt nothing from it.

_Slow down, Scotty, and give me a chance here!_

Scotty walked around the open room of the suite and looked around quickly, including the 'fresher. He adjusted the lights in the 'fresher and chimed each bedroom door. He had to wait a few moments at each but was finally let into all four rooms to adjust the lights. McCoy followed him into all four, afraid that if he let go of Scotty he'd be sucked back into the darkness again.

All too soon Scotty was reporting that the job was done and he was packing up the equipment he'd brought and then left. McCoy found he couldn't follow him out into the hallway.

_I just didn’t have enough time!_ McCoy thought with frustration.  _Maybe I shouldn't have tried messing with the machines. Maybe I've kept him from seeing something that would help me._

_Damn it! I'm a Doctor, not an Engineer. How would I know?_

 

***

 

 

Captain Kirk, no more comfortable in his dress uniform than he had been a couple of days ago, walked through the large gathering of Ambassadors and their aides attending the formal reception. He nodded and smiled at the various dignitaries, careful to be polite but to look busy enough that he wouldn't be pulled into any conversations. So, he took his time inspecting that large room that the _Enterprise_ used for various functions, as if he hadn't already inspected and signed off on it hours before.

As he wandered around with his drink, ice water with a bit of lemon, he had to admit it looked nice. The decorations were colorful, yet discrete with no religious or political symbols or colors that might offend. The buffet table was filled with various delicacies from the homeworlds of the member and pre-member Federation species. All grouped in a way that would keep the lines flowing but make it easy for someone to find something they should like. There were sitting areas at the edges of the room, where the large window to space showed the streaking fireworks of all the stars whose light they raced by, accented by the dim lighting of the room. And there were various mingling areas, some set high, some low so that the seven-foot Ruji could speak with the three-foot tall Ithenites with ease. And although the sound of conversation filled the room was at times a bit boisterous, at least it was congenial. For now.

He had passed Spock's father and his attaché just moments ago, talking to the Deltan Ambassador. Both were in animated conversation about some point of law coming up to a vote once they arrived at Babel.  _An odd mix. I wonder if the Deltans ever get frustrated at dealing with those species who don't live surrounded by the senses like they do._ Further across the room, a group of Tellarites was keeping mostly to themselves. A naturally argumentative bunch, they could usually be heard shouting insults over the rest of the delegation.  _Or maybe the others have learned not to start a discussion with them. They don’t like to lose a debate, especially in public._   _How the hell they ever get anything done at these conferences is beyond me._

He wandered closer to the group of Quarlians, pretending not to notice them. All through his greetings and procession through the crowds, Jim had been aware that Vena'k, the attaché to Ambassador Sha'na'tic had kept his eyes on him. Sha'na'tic himself was talking animatedly to the Andorian Ambassador Penar. And as Jim's eyes caught Vena'k's eye, he smiled and nodded as he walked toward them. The Quarlians were dressed grandly for the occasion. Both wore dark blue, velvety robes that rivaled the opulence of the ones Jim had seen before. The Ambassador's pure white hair was braided in many small plaits, then bunched at the base of his skull with a gold ring. Vena'k's hair was in one, simple braid down his back.

_They both look so young. Vena'k looks fresh out of high school and Sha'na'tic wouldn't be over twenty in human years. I have to remember they're more mature and intelligent than that. They could each have decades of experience over me and I wouldn't know for sure._

Sha'na'tic and Ambassador Penar failed to notice Jim, but Vena'k was all smiles. Jim took advantage of the moment to step closer to Vena'k.

"Captain. How pleasant it is to see you again!" Vena'k greeted him, warmly. His large, dark purple eyes held sympathy. "I hope that your Doctor has made some progress?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Jim said, giving Vena'k a small smile. "But we're always hopeful. I hear from my engineer that the lighting in your quarters has been fixed for you?"

"Oh, yes. Ambassador Sha'na'tic seems to feel much better already."

Jim bent closer to Vena'k and gave him one of his most charming smiles. "And you, Sir? How are you finding your voyage?"

_That got his attention,_ Jim thought as Vena'k placed a hand carefully on the arm that Jim was using to carry his drink.

"I am very much enjoying parts of it," Vena'k admitted. "Although, it all can be a bit lonely, even among one's own kind."

_Clearly an opening,_ Jim thought, working not to move his arm and dislodge the Quarlian.  _Could this really be that easy? Or have I been a target all along?_

Jim nodded toward the large window that showed the streaking light of stars in warp. "Would you care to get a closer look?"

Vena'k glanced at his Ambassador, who was still speaking with the Andorians. "Yes, I would."

They wove their way through the crowd, Vena'k tightening his grip on Jim's arm as if he were afraid they would become separated. There were only a couple of groups by the large window.  Jim steered them to the side where the crowd was the thinnest. They could talk here and not be overheard. Vena'k smiled, looking pleased with their location.

"You have a grand ship, Captain," Vena'k said letting the Captain's arm go, but standing close to Jim as he looked out at the streaking stars.

"Thank you. I'm very proud of her and my crew."

"I have not been in space very often," Vena'k admitted, his eyes now more on the Captain that the view. "As you know, without such technology as the transporter, and the replicator, we have always been limited in the past in the distance we can travel. We look forward very much to gaining such technologies as Federation Members. To travel such distances…" Vena'k smiled, then tilted his head and closed his eyes in thought. "It will mean much to my people, to be part of such a grand group. I look forward to visiting many places. Do you recommend any in particular?"

"I have some favorites," Jim said. "But they all have their charm. I have to admit my favorite is Earth. It's always nice to go home."

"You miss it?"

"Yes and no," Jim admitted with a small smile. "I enjoy visiting now that I have a ship to run. But I'm not really ready to settle down quite yet. Space seems more home to me now."

"But you lack company? A man in your rank must find his time aboard a bit isolating."

"Yes, sometimes." Jim tried to look sad as he focused on his drink, swirling the small amount he had left. "I do miss having someone close. To share it all with."

Vena'k took a step even closer and Jim fought the urge to step back. When he looked up, Vena'k's deep purple eyes were boring into his. His delicate features radiating beauty and warmth. "As do I. Maybe we can… pass some time together, in private?"

_Bingo,_ Jim thought with satisfaction.  _Now if I can just get him to agree to a time and place._

"I'd like that. Very much," Jim said softly. He reached out, as it to touch Vena'k's face, then pulled back as he glanced around them at the full room. Vena'k's expression showed he clearly understood the gesture. "But I'm a very busy man, I'm afraid. And it wouldn't do to neglect my guests at the moment. Perhaps later tonight?"

"Of course," Vena'k agreed. Suddenly, his pleased expression vanished and was replaced by a blank one as Vena'k looked over Kirk's shoulder. "A time and location, Captain?" Vena'k asked quickly.

"I should have everyone here tucked in by one a.m," Jim said quickly, feeling that they were about to be interrupted. "We could have a drink in my quarters –"

"Yes," Vena'k interrupted, looking a bit agitated. "That will do nicely, Captain." Vena'k took a step away from Jim and bowed slightly. "I see that Sha'na'tic is in need of my presence, Sir. I will see you at the appointed time."

_And now, he can't leave me quickly enough._ Jim turned to watch Vena'k make his way back to his Ambassador.  _What happened?_

Ambassador Sarek was making his way toward Jim and it hit him then.  _What two people do you never see talking? The Quarlians and the Vulcans. Vena'k was all into me until he spotted Sarek on his way. Is that because of who Sarek is, or what he is?_

Jim walked toward Sarek to pay his respects. Sarek seemed not to have noticed Vena'k's sudden departure.

_Whatever it is, it's a one-way thing. Maybe I can see what Sarek knows of them that Spock doesn't. This could be important._

 

***

 

Jim walked tiredly back to his Ready Room. The first official formal reception seemed to have gone well. Jim had felt that he was able to leave about midnight without insulting anyone. He was glad the corridors were mostly empty, the ship on night shift. He undid the top two fasteners on his uniform well before he got to the Ready Room door. He felt certain any crew member he came across would cut him some slack for being 'out of uniform'. The night crew was cool like that.

_At least things went well, for such a volatile group. No food fights or anything more than some raised voices, which is pretty normal for the Tellarites. We get the set-up finished in my rooms, then maybe I can visit Bones and see if anyone's made any progress._

He didn't think they had since he knew Spock or M'Benga would update him if they'd discovered something important.

Accessing the Ready Room from the corridor just outside the bridge, Jim stopped short, letting the door swish shut behind him. Scotty, Spock, and M'Benga all stood at the far end of the room. All three stopped talking and turned to look at him. Spock and M'Benga were stone-faced, but Scotty looked devastated.

_Oh, hell… **Bones**! He's dead.  _ Jim was afraid to move, to say anything, to make the moment real.

"Captain," Spock said quietly. "I'm afraid we have some disturbing news. Please sit."

"No," Jim replied without a thought, feeling numb and more than a bit panicky. He straightened himself, pulling at his uniform. "Just spit it out," he said through gritted teeth.

Spock looked to M'Benga, who cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. "Doctor McCoy is still stable, but we've found some troubling information."

Jim sighed with relief. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.  _At least he's still alive._  Jim nodded at M'Benga to continue.  _Now for the other shoe to drop._

"We've been doing every test we can think of, Captain, and in doing so we've found that Doctor McCoy carries the gene for Xenopolycythemia."

Everyone was quiet for a moment as Jim rolled the word 'Xenopolycythemia' in his mind. He didn't recognize it, but he could tell it was bad. Really bad.

When he didn't say anything, M'Benga continued, his face grim.

"It's very rare in the human population," M'Benga paused, looking pained. "It's always fatal, Captain. There's no cure, or treatment, once the gene starts to break down the body."

Jim felt like he'd been slammed against the wall. His senses and his mind were reeling. He reached over for a chair, barely aware that Spock had taken his arm and guided him to one. He sat heavily, a thousand questions in his mind. "Is this part of what the Quarlians may have done to him?"

M'Benga sat down opposite Jim and shook his head. "No, I don't think so, Captain. All indications are that this is something Doctor McCoy's had since birth. Usually passed down as a genetic defect from the maternal side. The gene lies dormant for many years before it manifests."

"How could he not know?" A troubling thought struck Jim. " _Did_  he know?"

"I don't think so," M'Benga said quickly. "Captain, it's not something we screen for in Starfleet unless it's been seen to run in a family. It can skip many generations. Since McCoy's mother died fairly young there's no way of knowing if she would have manifested the disease as she grew older. There is nothing in his medical records to suggest he ever suspected or had himself tested for it. I'm sure he never even gave it a thought, as there are no symptoms for many years. And when it does manifest…."

"How long, once it starts?" Jim asked tightly, hoping his voice didn't betray the trembling he felt inside.

"Seven months to a year, once the first symptoms appear." M'Benga sighed. "But he should still have years left ahead of him, if we can get him past his current condition."

**_If._ ** _If… if… if… Too many of them already._

"How long until symptoms start? What are they?"

M'Benga looked as if he were debating how much information he should share. Jim glared at him, not wanting to be spared.

M'Benga continued after a moment, his voice low. "The body starts to produce too many red blood cells. Blood clots start to form in the smaller veins, leading to organ and tissue damage. Instead of creating more chances to spread oxygen through the body, it strangles it." M'Benga looked down at his PADD. "It's not a painless disease, and while we can try to keep on top of it, it just gets too… massive. There's currently no way to totally prevent the body from deteriorating. It's a constant race near the end to repair what was damaged before more occurs. There's no known cure and very little research done in that area, I'm afraid."

"How old?" Jim whispered. "How old do they live to be, on average?"

M'Benga's voice was almost as low. "Most humans show symptoms in their early to mid-forties. Some a bit earlier. So far, no one's survived to their 50's."

_Fifty years. Not even that._ Jim felt a flutter of panic and shock run through him and he made fists so that his hands wouldn't tremble. He'd spent much of his life thinking that he himself would never make it to 20. Then never to 25. Only in the last few years had he been able to see himself growing old and retiring someday. He knew it may never happen. He wouldn't be the person he was if he was always looking for the easiest, safest way to live his life. But he'd allowed himself to at least have the dream of a long, happy life to give him something to strive for if things got down to the wire. Because he never once considered that he'd be alone in that future. Bones was always going to live to be a cranky, harsh but lovable, gray old man. Even though the larger part of Jim knew that Bones was as much in danger of dying any day, any second, as any other part of his crew, Jim had kept that one little fantasy for himself.

_I won't let it happen. There has to be a way to keep him alive,_ Jim decided. He took a large breath to steady himself.  _M'Benga's right. Bones will have all the time he needs to tackle that problem once this one's solved. He's brilliant. He can cure anything, with time and the right tools. I'll make damn sure he gets them. But right now we have to find out what is wrong before he can work on the next problem._

"Okay," Jim said, forcing himself to sound settled and decisive. "Then we'll tackle that problem when we get to it. Our first priority is, of course, to get all the Diplomates to Babel in one piece. Our second is to find out what happened to McCoy so that it doesn't happen to anyone else. And if the Quarlians are involved, then we deal with that political nightmare after we quarantine them and make sure they can't mess with anyone else. Assuming…" he added, "that we're not way off the mark here with our suspicions."

He nodded to M'Benga. "You're excused, Doctor. Let me know at any time if McCoy's condition changes." After M'Benga left Jim waved at Spock and Scotty to sit. "Let's get down to the present, Gentlemen. What have you found so far? Mr. Scott?"

"It was a bit strange, Captain," Scotty admitted. "I didnae see anything out of place or hidden in plain sight, if ya' know what I mean. Like no bombs or vials of poison left lyin' around. I tried to get a reading on some of their use of the recycler systems and such, but I kept getting some kind of interference. Like there was some kind o' 'lectrcal charge that was messin' with the screens. Especially those with a keypad. There's something wonky going on in those rooms, but nothing I could pin down. Oh!" he said raising a finger. "I did adjust their lights, so they should nae have any complaints there."

"It was a long shot, Scotty," Jim said. He looked at Spock. "Any idea why Scotty's instruments would get any kind of interference from the Ambassador's suit? Could they be trying to jam us? Alter some reading?"

"Unknown, Captain. But I will work with Mr. Scott and see what we can discover." Spock steepled his fingers as he put his elbows on the table. "I have gone over the lab, as we discussed, Captain. Vena'k was nearly correct in that he and Doctor McCoy were in the lab 23 point 73 minutes. None of the lab equipment had been turned on or used, although we cannot be certain that none of it was moved. There was no request from the Doctor asking for any supplies on board that could be used in replicating trimmander. We found nothing in the room's biofilters. But the recycler was used."

Jim felt surprised at that. "What was tossed out?"

Jim could tell that if Spock could have frowned, he would have. "The recyclers are not programmed to examine objects for their complex structures. It breaks components down to their basic cellular levels and stores the results for resequencing in a replicator or food synthesizer later. The readings only indicate that something small was recycled, mostly of plastic compounds. There was a minuscule amount of bio-matter in it, but only traces. The unknown substance was destroyed and not stored with the other bio-waste products."

"So, there's no way to find out what was recycled."

"No. But the container seemed to be a small storage device. Not something more complex and identifiable as a hypo."

"Then Doctor McCoy wasn't injected with anything," Scotty noted. "Could it have been a gas? A powder or cream of some sort?"

"It could," Spock confirmed.

"Why?" Jim asked Scotty.

"Lovely lassies, the Quarlians," Scotty said with a small smile. "And like some of the vainer sexes and species on the ship, and in the diplomatic core, the Quarlian lasses like to 'touch up' a bit. I noticed in the Quarlian's quarters that there were many beauty products in the 'fresher. No one thinks a thing when someone travels with their make-up, Captain. And as long as it makes it through the bio-filters on a transporter or at the shuttle bay entrance, we'd never give it a thought."

"You're right," Jim said. "That'll give us a place to start if we end up needing to search their suite."

"We may have a hard time getting such permission, Captain," Spock said. "They will, of course, claim Diplomatic privilege if they decide they will not be questioned. Since their quarters are legally considered Quarlian territory while they are on board, searching it will require a very large, ship-wide emergency to stand up in a review. I do not think that the conditions suffered by the ship's doctor will be enough to warrant a search."

"I know," Jim said. "Which is why we're not in there now, digging around. I put too much pressure on the Quarlians, too soon, then they'll hide or destroy any information about what happened to McCoy and cry 'foul' to the high heavens. In that case, Starfleet's Diplomatic Corps, who are waiting at Babel to take over care and feeding of our passengers, will come on the run."

Jim sat back and rubbed his face. "Which is why I've invited Vena'k to my quarters. He jumped at the chance, so either I get him to tell me what he did to McCoy, or he tries the same thing with me."

"This could be very dangerous, Captain," Scotty said.

"I know. But unless we can figure out another way to find out what was done, they'll be on Babel and out of our reach in another day or so. And I don’t trust the Federation Diplomatic Corps to give McCoy's plight the attention it deserves." He looked at Spock. "Are all the surveillance devices in place in my cabin?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." Jim checked the chronometer. "We have an hour to get everything set. Scotty, give me thirty minutes to shower and get dressed before you turn all the camera's on. Spock, you get set in the cabin across the hall with Scotty. I'll leave it to your judgment when, or if, to crash the party. If I can get him talking then maybe we can learn more about them, even if nothing else comes of this. Anything to add?" At the shake of both heads, he stood. "Then let's get this started."

As he walked to the door, Scotty came up to him, his face serious but his eyes sympathetic. "Captain… Jim, you know that if you need someone to go over that place with a fine-toothed comb, or anything else questionable that needs doing, you can call on me. Anytime."

"Thanks, Scotty," Jim said with feeling. "Hopefully we can do this so we get our answers, and if the Quarlians are dirty, any charges will stick. Legit."

Scotty nodded and left. Spock stayed behind.

"Spock?"

"I share Mr. Scott's sentiments, Captain," Spock said, his eyes kind. "And I wanted to 'wish you luck'. I too wish the Doctor back on-duty and looking out after us all. And I am sure the Doctor could use some help with the research regarding his genetic condition."

Jim smiled. "Thanks, Spock. That means a lot to me. And to him. We both may need all the friends we can get."

 

***

 

Jim had dressed quickly, picking out something casual for Vena'k's arrival. He'd chosen a dark blue leisure shirt and dark pants. They were clean, comfortable and represented as much effort as Jim felt like extending for this 'date'. He'd had a quick shower and debated putting on something dressier, but decided that Vena'k probably wouldn't care what he wore.

_It's not as if this is going to get very far,_ Jim thought.  _At least I hope not. Even if the whole place wasn't bugged, I don't know how far I **could**  go with an amorous Quarlian._

It wasn't until he looked around the cabin to make sure it was presentable did he realize how many things McCoy had left lying around. There were a couple of PADDs, a few paper books, his favorite mug and a sweater for those evenings he swore the ship was colder than usual. Jim scooped up the items and set them on the dresser top in his bedroom. The same dresser in which McCoy had commandeered a drawer for himself, just as Jim had taken over one in McCoy's quarters.

_I'll need to put away his toothbrush, along with the extra towels._ Jim sighed as he removed the toothbrush from the 'fresher and made sure that was nothing else that made it look like more than one person lived here.  _When did housekeeping start sending me extra towels? I hadn't even noticed._

Jim felt like there were a lot of things he hadn't notice until the last few months. Like how deathly silent his cabin was without McCoy in it. Or just how much time he'd spent in McCoy's quarters, even when they had conflicting shifts. Once their five-year mission had started there'd been more than a few nights he just couldn't sleep. He had quietly entered McCoy's rooms and crawled into bed with the sleeping man. Just as there were the times he'd wake up with Bones next to him after he'd turned in alone.

_I remember feeling that there couldn’t be anything more important to do with my spare time than hunt down my next conquest. Always pushing forward to my next sexual experience, the next new partner. But it was always Bones I went to when I needed someone. When it was important._

Glancing at the time, he realized he had to move quickly. By now Scotty would have all the surveillance devices he'd stored around the rooms turned on.  _And I haven't noticed one of them,_  Jim realized.  _Scotty's good, but that's kind of creepy if I think about it too much._

He checked to make sure everything looked okay, just in case the Quarlian would notice something out of place. He went to program the food synthesizer to match what the Quarlians had in their quarters. Jim typed in a request for a list of beverages they drank, located some that were alcoholic, and shifted those choices to the top of the 'favorites list'. He'd want to offer the Quarlian something he could actually drink, so he'd look like a good host.

Just as he'd finished the chime rang.

 

***

 

McCoy was feeling desperate.  _Jim's going to get attacked and I have to stop it. There has to be a way!_

He was outside Jim's cabin with Vena'k, having been dragged along by whatever link joined him to the Quarlian. Vena'k rang the chime and in a minute Jim's door slid open. Jim stood at the entrance looking good in his blue shirt. It was one of McCoy's favorites.

"Hello," Jim smiled and stepped back out of the way. "Right on time. Please come in."

Vena'k bowed slightly and came inside. McCoy could only watch as Jim went acted as host and made Vena'k comfortable on the couch.

_There's got to be something I can do. Some way to get to Jim._

"Is there something you'd like to drink? A quan-shee? A flim-tie? Some other drink?" Jim asked after Vena'k had taken a seat.

"You've done your research." Vena'k smiled. "Surprise me, Captain."

Jim returned to the replicator, McCoy grabbed on to him. As they both neared the machine, McCoy could feel the hum of the electronics inside. Like the other machines he'd tried to access, the mechanics themselves were well shielded, but this one felt different, the flow of energy more evenly spaced.

_It's a capacitive touchscreen,_ McCoy realized.  _It uses the electricity of a person's body to make the connections. This should be easier to type on than Scotty's tools! If I can only focus..._

Just as Jim was raising his hand McCoy pulled himself into a concentrated mass, sent out a tightly focused band of whatever type of energy he was into a thin tendril, then picked a letter on the keypad and  _pushed._  As soon as he felt a familiar click he pushed another.

**D-A-N-G-E-R**

If he'd had a body, McCoy was sure he would have felt faint with relief. He watched Jim, who looked confused.

_No time to waste,_ McCoy thought as he started typing again.  _What to say?_

Once he got started McCoy typed frantically, wishing he'd thought more about his message, but hoping Jim would give him enough time to get something coherent out. As he was typing, Vena'k called out to Jim. "Everything all right, Captain?"

"Oh, just looking through all my choices. I want to make sure it'll be something you'd enjoy," Jim said, throwing Vena'k a smile over his shoulder. "Maybe an appetizer or three."

McCoy paused to read over what he'd typed into the replicator's small screen, which was only 65 spaces long.

**DANGER POWDER QUARLIAN AMBUSH TAKEOVER MENTAL CONSCIOUSNESS**

Any more and it would start to roll off the screen.

"Alright," Jim said whispered, his eyes flitting around the room surreptitiously. "That  _was_  the idea in being here. What's new?"

_Does he know who he's talking to?_ McCoy wondered.  _Or does he think… no, he_ **knows**   _he's being watched! That's why he invited Vena'k here. They know that the Quarlians are up to something and he's put himself up as bait!_

McCoy hit the back button until the screen was clear, then started again.

**POWDER SHIMTREE QUARLIAN TAKEOVER BY TELEPATHY U NEXT**

McCoy saw Jim startle. His whisper was tight. "You know what they used?

It was then that McCoy noticed that Vena'k had quietly unbound his trum, the strands stretching out and moving as if following unseen currents in the air. He was coming up behind Jim, his steps soundless. He held something up to his face, a small container.

_The shimtree!_

**DUCKDUCKDUCKDUCK**

As McCoy typed furiously Jim moved, dropping down just as Vena'k blew a fine brownish powder into the space where Jim's head would have been a second before.

The fight was on as Jim tackled Vena'k and they both toppled to the ground. Vena'k, clearly surprised, snarled and lashed out, trying to take Jim down. For the few seconds it lasted, McCoy knew he was seeing two men very skilled at hand-to-hand combat. Jim was good, but McCoy could see that Vena'k was just as good, as he was using his wildly waving trum to try to blind Jim when he could. They rolled over the table, crashing into the couch in a tangle of limbs and white, wild trum. When Spock and the security team came through the door McCoy could tell that Jim had just gotten the upper hand in the fight. Vena'k must have known it as well, for he pulled himself away from Jim and backed away from the three men with phasers. Behind them, a couple of MedTechs looked to Jim for their instructions.

"Over there! It's a powder," Jim ordered. "Follow contamination protocols. Get as much of it as you can, but be careful. Don't breathe it in! Everyone else, out!"

Two security guards took Vena'k by the arms, only tightening their grip when Vena'k tried to shake them off. They dragged him out into the corridor, the Captain and Spock close behind them. McCoy was pulled along with them.

_Thank God that Jim's safe!_ But McCoy himself was feeling unsettled.  _Vena'k must be too pissed off to realize he's losing control and showing his trum. Doesn't much look like hair now, does it? And in public, too._

There were only a few crew members in the corridor at this time of night, but Jim waved them on since they looked like they wanted to help. But McCoy didn't think they'd forget the sight of a pissed off Quarlian with wild hair anytime soon.

"I have Diplomatic immunity," Vena'k snapped loudly, ignoring Jim. He took a breath, his trum waving wildly. "I have just fought off the Captain, who was trying to rape me!"

"There's no need for lies, Vena'k," Spock said coldly, the phaser in his hand never wavering. "We have your visit to the Captain recorded. Along with your attack on him." Spock stepped closer to the Quarlian and lifted his hand. Vena'k seemed unaware of the swirling mass of trum around his head. A strand struck Spock's hand and his eyes widened and he pulled back. "Telepathy, Captain. The Quarlian is displaying a telepathic sense organ, not strands of keratinized proteins."

_Just say it, Spock. You mean, it's **not**  hair, _  McCoy thought, wishing he could roll his eyes. _Yeah, that's the first step in figuring out how to fix this mess. They're telepaths and liars._

"Telepathic. That's what the display said." Jim walked up to face Vena'k. "It's called shimtree, or something like that, right?"

Vena'k froze, growing pale. Even his large, purple eyes seemed to fade in color. "I will answer none of your questions," he snapped.

"You  _will_  tell us," Jim said angrily, moving into Vena'k's personal space and into his face. His fists clenched. "You  _will_  tell us what you did to McCoy and how to undo it. Or I will make you very sorry if you don't."

"Threats, Captain? To a diplomate?" Vena'k spat.

"To a diplomate's  _aide_ ," Jim said confidently, his eyes boring into Vena'k's. "One whom I'm sure the Quarlian government will be glad to abandon once Starfleet starts its investigation into the Quarlian people and their hiding of their telepathic powers. And as we start looking into who within our system may be under their influence? Do you know the words "puppet master" Vena'k? Because we do and we'll soon see how deeply your people have entrenched themselves into our society. And if they decide to cut and run, guess who they'll be leaving behind?"

Vena'k, now pale enough to look as though he could faint at any moment, tightened his jaw and with some obvious effort controlled his flailing trum enough to have it fall limply on his shoulders. "Try all you want, Captain. You'll get nothing from me."

"Take him down the hall," Jim ordered. "Hold him until I give the word, then send him to the brig." Vena'k was marched down the corridor.

"Let him think about it for a minute or two," Jim said once they were out of earshot.

McCoy could feel the pull as Vena'k was moved further away. But he clung to Jim now as tightly as he could.  _He goes to the brig, so will I, damn it. I just hope there are some capacitive screens in there as well. Those I can manage._

"A good bluff, Captain," Spock said. "But he may not be forced to say anything more. If he does have information, I doubt the Quarlian government will be content to walk away from him, either dead or alive."

Jim took a breath, visibly calming himself down. "Well, we have a place to start, anyway. If we're lucky, the MedTechs will have enough of a sample of that powder he tried to dose me with that we can start analyzing it and figure out what we're working with. Since you already have a name for it and found out about their telepathy, we've got a lot to work on before we get to Babel. Although you could have told me about the telepathy part before this all started."

McCoy watched as Spock gave Jim a questioning look. "I had no such information, Captain."

"No?" Jim looked at Spock in confusion. "But then, who typed it on the replicator screen?"

"I did not send you any information in such a manner," Spock stated, clearly just as confused.

"Then who did?"

At that moment the door to Jim's cabin opened and the MedTechs emerged. Behind them, the door to the cabin slid shut and the red 'decontamination' warning light came on over the door.

"I think we were able to vacuum up almost all of the sample, Captain. That is if the container we found in the room is anything to go by." The young women reported. "We've set the room to decontamination mode now. You should be able to go back in in a minute or two."

"Take it right to MedBay," Jim ordered. "Tell M'Benga to take all precautions, but get to analyzing it as soon as possible. Tell him we believe it was used on Doctor McCoy."

The MedTech nodded and left with her companion.

"Spock," Jim said, "someone was typing out information to me on the replicator screen. I thought it was you or one of Scotty's people."

"No, it was not," Spock said. "We have had no new information since our meeting an hour ago."

"Then… who…?"

_Me, Jim! It was me! And if we can get back in there maybe I'll have enough force left to tell you so._

After a moment of confused silence, the decontamination light dinged off and both officers re-entered Jim's quarters. McCoy was grateful that he could still stay with Jim as he headed straight back to the replicator.

**DUCKDUCKDUCKDUCK**  was still visible on the screen. Spock's eyebrow rose.

"That is just part of the conversation. I thought you or Scotty had hacked into the screen and were warning me what to watch for. The other screens said…" Jim closed his eyes to focus. "Danger, powder, Quarlian, ambush, takeover, mental, consciousness. Then another sentence. Powder, shimtree, Quarlian, takeover, telepathy, puppet masters, u, next."

"A clear warning," Spock agreed.

McCoy reached out once again and focused on pressing the 'back' key.

Both men watched with fascination as the screen cleared.

_Now, if I can just get some more information across before I get too tired. Or whatever the hell it is that makes me fade out._

"Who?" Jim said loudly, eyes on the screen.

**MCCOY**

Jim's eyes widened and even Spock looked shocked.

"McCoy is unconscious," Jim said quietly to Spock. "If he could communicate with us in this way, how could we be sure it was him?"

McCoy backspaced again.

_What can I say to convince him? With telepathy in play, anything I say will be suspect as it could be anyone with access to my thoughts._

He typed...  **ITS ME - WASNT YOUR SHORTEST DATE SO FAR –CADET-**

Jim huffed in relief and gave Spock a small smile. "Well, if it's not Bones, it knows too much about me already."

"A shared memory?" Spock asked.

"Yeah," Jim replied. "My shortest date ever was a girl I met outside of classes. She didn't know I was going to the Academy and when I showed up in my Cadet Reds she all but slammed the door in my face. Apparently had a severe hatred of everything Starfleet. Bones thought it was hilarious that my date lasted all of five seconds. Said I beat his record of ten minutes."

"I see," Spock said dryly. "I will concede that McCoy would have such information, as it is not something a human male is likely to tell many others."

"You bet." Jim reached up and cleared the screen himself. He raised his voice. "So Vena'k attacked you? Gave you this shimtree? Caused your loss of consciousness?"

**YES BUT NO MEMORY – SOMETHING WENT WRONG - QUARLIANS CONFUSED TOO**

"So, they tried to take over your mind with the shimtree and something went wrong." Jim cleared the screen. "What do we do, Bones? How do we get you out of this and awake?"

McCoy thought for a moment.  _What do I tell him? The Quarlians don’t understand it either._

**DONT KNOW - COMPARE ME TO SUCCESSFUL PUPPETS N STARFLEET N UFP**

"So, the Quarlians have done this before," Spock said looking at Jim. For Spock, he was looking very grim. "And they've taken people in Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets Counsel."

"Looks like we'll need to get this information out to Starfleet Security on the double," Jim said with a frown. He said louder, "Do you know who?"

**NO NAMES - PEOPLE IN POWER - TAKEOVER PLAN BABEL - USED LAST POWDER ON U**

"Then we'll add that to our long list of questions for the Quarlians." Jim backspaced again. "Any way we can find their victims quickly, Bones?"

_Maybe I do have an idea on that._ McCoy typed letting his words scroll off the screen as Jim and Spock watched.

**FEAR VULCAN TELEPATHY – DISCOVERY – MIND MELD OR TOUCH - BUT THEY CAN KILL PUPPETS AT A DISTANCE – DROP DEAD - SO HURRY**

"We will, Bones, can you let us know if you find out anything else? Anything we can do to help you?"

McCoy could feel he was losing energy and that any minute the world would disappear on him again. He waited until Jim backspaced for him.

**NO IDEA - I OVERHEAR SOMETIMES - TIED TO VENAKS LOCATION – I HAVE NO CONTROL**

"Hang on, Bones," Jim whispered as he cleared the board once again for another round.

Which was the last thing he heard before the black washed him out once again.

 

***

 

When McCoy came to it was different. Not good, _like back in his body_ different. But so much weaker than before. Even without a body, he'd felt like himself. Mostly. Now he felt like parts of himself had drifted away while he wasn't looking and he was too tired to find them.

He could feel Vena'k was near. He was agitated again. But he could also feel Spock and Jim close by. He moved toward the people he knew as the room started to form into something solid.

It took him a moment to realize he was in the same room as his own body. They were both there, Jim with his head pillowed on his arms as he sat in a chair, leaning on the bed and Spock on the other side. But Spock was awake, eyes going back between Jim, McCoy's body, the bio-feeds and the large PADD that was set up on the table beside McCoy's bed. The room was dim and Jim was clearly asleep. The low light made the bio-feed screens glow brightly red. McCoy could have seen the bad combination of readings from a mile away. With his eyes closed. As they actually were.

_No wonder I feel like I'm drifting apart,_ he realized. _Whatever energy I'm still getting from my body is fading. I'm dying._

Not all at once and not just any second now. But his vitals were clearly circling the drain. It made him feel even wearier. He studied himself for a moment. It was strange like it always was to see yourself in anything but a mirror. He looked like he was just sleeping, although someone had kept him shaved and his hair combed. But even without all the devices watching him, McCoy could tell that the body in front of him was ill. There were dark bags under his eyes and even in the dim light he looked flushed. The pulse at his neck was slow. If he could pinch his own skin, he would probably find he was a bit dehydrated even though he was hooked up to everything they had that could keep a body happy. But not necessarily alive.

_Can't say I'm surprised. No telling what that shit I was dosed with did to me._

Curious, he pulled/pushed himself closer to Spock.

_What's he watching that's more important than my vitals?_

It was a large PADD, propped up where Spock could see the screen. The on-screen keyboard was up and a small green cursor blinked on the otherwise empty space.

McCoy reached out to it.  _Another capacitive touchscreen. Old tech, if I remember correctly._

McCoy didn't know a lot about the technology around him, other than the capacitive screens worked on electricity from the human body. And the others… worked in other ways.

_They must have scrambled to find a portable one still around. Or cannibalized something. Scotty could make a hover engine from a used toothpick, an old-style toaster, and super glue. I just hope I still have enough juice in this form to use it._

He typed on it and saw Spock come to attention as the first letters appeared. McCoy tried to keep it simple since he didn't know how long he could keep it up before disappearing again.

**IM BACK – TIRED**

"It's good to hear from you, Doctor," Spock said quietly. "We didn't know if you would be able to manifest again. There are things you need to know and time is running out."

Spock stood and reached over McCoy's body to gently shake Jim awake.

Jim shook his head as he pulled himself out of sleep, trying to get his bearings. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn't eaten much in a while.

_He's really beat. Running on fumes. Things have happened since I was last aware. Probably not good things._

"He's here," Spock said.

Jim held out his hand. Spock handed him the large PADD.

"Bones?"

**HERE. WHATS HAPPENED?**

"You've not been hanging around?" Jim asked disappointedly. He and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "We were afraid of that. Okay. It's been a few days since the incident in my cabin. We contacted Starfleet Security and gave them a full report, after confining the Quarlians to their suite. We couldn't officially arrest them until Starfleet got the ball rolling. But we were able to keep them from contacting their homeworld or their government until we reached Babel. Starfleet Security had about a two-day head start to push the panic button and clamp down on all the Quarlians stationed on Earth and various other Federation planets. Once we got to Babel we unloaded the rest of the diplomats and they were informed by the UFP Council about what had happened and what the Quarlians were hiding from us all. Ambassador Sarek, Ambassador Litar of the Aenar, and Spock were able to discern that the Quarlians aboard the ship _do_  have telepathic abilities, although very faint compared to some other species. But the kicker is, of course, that they never let us know they had that ability and that they intended to use it for nefarious purposes."

**FIND THE PUPPETS?**

"A few. Some by a telepathic screening of those people surrounding the Quarlians on their Federation sites," Jim explained. "A few people actually dropped dead before we could get to them. The Quarlians around them tried to cut-n-run. I guess they didn't want to leave anything, or anyone, behind."

**IN DEEP?**

"Not as deep as they would have been, given time," Spock answered, having come around the bed to stand behind Jim and read the screen over his shoulder. "We've been able to get some Quarlians who've been captured to talk. Those without Diplomatic Immunity seem to have less incentive to stay quiet. Apparently, the 'shimtree' that was used on you and the others is very rare on Quarlian, and only those in the upper Echelon know about it. Their plans were to take over important members in various organizations, infiltrate the Federation and put themselves in positions of power. A plan they intended to put into place slowly, as they had to avoid the other telepathic species as much as possible."

_At least they got the bastards,_ McCoy thought with relief.  _No telling how far they would have gotten it they hadn't fucked it up._  He steeled himself to ask the harder question.

**WHAT WENT WRONG WITH ME?**

Jim frowned and a strange sadness took over his eyes. "We have until we get to Earth to figure this out, Bones, while we carry the Quarlians back to Starfleet Headquarters. After that, they'll probably be incarcerated or deported. No one can guarantee we can keep your body and the Quarlians in the same place longer than that. But you have to make a decision before then. A really huge one."

_The part about me looking half dead. Yeah. Let's hear it before I vaporize again._

**SPILL IT.**

Jim nodded. "M'Benga and Sessket discovered something while they were trying to figure out what happened to you. Bones, you have Xenopolycythemia."

**_What_ ** _? Where the hell did that come from?_ McCoy felt shocked.  _How? I mean, I know how people get it, but how could I not have known I had it?_

He'd never come across it in one of his own patients. It was just too rare for more than a few physicians on Earth to have seen a case. He couldn't think of anyone on his maternal side that had it.

_But that doesn't mean anything. Maybe some in Ma's line did have it, only to be diagnosed with something else after they dropped dead. They weren't terribly long-lived on that side of the family and who knows what our history was before the Eugenics Wars? So many killed, so much information lost…_

But however he had inherited it, there was no doubt by the look on Jim's and Spock's faces that it had been checked up one side and down the other and was found to be unarguably true.

_Well, at least the bad readings make sense now._

**ITS MANIFESTED. MY CLOCK IS TICKING DOWN.**

"It seems that the shimtree the Quarlians used on you had started the process of deterioration," Spock said reluctantly. "It is accelerating."

_Fuck! That would be my damned luck. I hadn’t even shown symptoms yet. I could have had a year, or more, until it even started. By the look of these two and my current readings, I must have only weeks left._

"But there's a  _chance_ , Bones," Jim said quickly, looking a bit more hopeful than he had a minute ago. "From what we can tell from the sample we managed to collect, the shimtree alters the DNA in your brain so that the Quarlians can take over. We're not sure how. At least, not yet. But because the DNA that causes Xenopolycythemia is a flaw, a mutation, the shimtree couldn't function on you the same way it did on other humans. Vena'k could barely make any connection, let alone control you or alter your thought patterns. It's like the Xenopolycythemia mutation and the shimtree are fighting each other. Somehow, that's put you in this kind of…. telepathic 'limbo'. Which is why we had trouble contacting you ourselves. We realized Vena'k had to be trying to make contact or agitated enough he was doing it unconsciously, to pull you out of… where ever it is you really are."

"You may actually be using his brain to process information," Spock added, "which is why your body shows no recordable, conscious brain activity. Your body is running its own basic life support and not much more."

**SO HE LEAVES, I LEAVE WITH HIM?**

Spock shook his head. "We don't know, Doctor. This is all basic conjecture, with little real information. Unfortunately, at this point, we only know that the effect of the shimtree on the DNA in your brain is spreading and signaling the mutation to manifest in the rest of your body. Your red and white blood cell counts are already dangerously high."

**NOTHING TO BE DONE?**

_What chance could there be if everything has started its downward cycle?_

"Bones, listen," Jim said quickly. "Spock and M'Benga say we can do one of three things. First is, we don't interfere and let the bad DNA base mutation you were born with fight the shimtree in your system and win. Eventually, it should if you have the time. But even if you do have that much time left and you regain consciousness again, you'll be too far gone to have it matter much."

_Wake up just in time to die? No help there. But maybe I could have just enough time to say a proper goodbye._

"Second," Jim continued, getting more animated. "M'Benga and Sessket have found a way to stop the shimtree from activating the new DNA base it creates. They can load a virus with a way to mutate the new DNA the shimtree tries to produce. They could stop the shimtree's progress now, but once again, the Xenopolycythemia is already active. That would continue even if the shimtree is gone."

_Which is why it's still so deadly. The Xenopolycythemia will kill me either way. Still not much of a choice. What's left to decide?_

Jim took a breath. McCoy recognized that look. Jim was getting ready to sell McCoy on the next step. One that he might not want to take.

"The third is to inject M'Benga's virus and then get one of the Quarlians to agitate the shimtree  _more_. Boost the process and  _make_  it take over. Then it takes over not just your brain, but the rest of your body as well. It replaces your bad DNA sequence and the Xenopolycythemia stops dead. Then the shimtree will have done its job, disappear from your system and the new DNA that's left will be broken and unusable. Like all those broken DNA bits we all carry around from birth that never do anything."

_It could work,_ McCoy thought hopefully.  _Unless something gets twisted and I'm left with an untreatable condition that's worse than xenopolycythemia. Even then, maybe then I'd get more time than I've got now._

There was so much to think about and consider. DNA manipulation was still more an art that science and usually took a  _lot_  of study and computer simulations before anything was even peer-reviewed, let alone put into practice. So much of the body's functioning, and exactly how it was tied into the DNA's role in creating and maintaining a living form, was still a dark and unfamiliar territory. Unravel one thread and the whole thing could fall apart and he'd end up a puddle of goo. Pull another and he could end up with superhumans abilities and get blood that can even cure death like Kahn's had cured Jim. Better, but not a dependable result.

_But what choice do I have, really?_ McCoy could feel his strength waning. Maybe it was the xenopolycythemia. Maybe it was that they couldn't keep Vena'k agitated enough to keep McCoy conscious and aware. Which reminded him of something Spock had said before.

**I COULD WAKE UP WITH NO MEMORY OF THIS. OR NOT WAKE UP AT ALL. VENAK COULD TURN ME OFF.**

"We _won't_ let him," Jim said with determination. McCoy knew how much Jim believed in that promise.

_You're not 'all powerful' any more than I am, Kid. But I know you'll try your best._

"We would not be using Vena'k's help," Spock added. "Ambassador Sha'na'tic has made it clear that he seeks asylum in the Federation. I'm sure he's aware that his life is forfeit since he was technically in charge of their failure and discovery. Also, my father and I will take steps to make sure that Sha'na'tic's intentions are pure. We may also be able to assist him in this."

_Do I even want to know how they'll do that? If they weren't afraid of the Vulcan's before..._

"You have to decide soon, Bones," Jim said anxiously. "It's coming down to the wire. If we lose contact with you, I'll have to make the decision as your emergency contact and 'next of kin'."

_I know what he wants me to do. What he'll decide if he has to be the one to make the call. And, really, what's the point of doing anything else? At least if **I**_ _decide and it goes wrong he won't blame himself. Okay, yeah, he will. So, I'll just have to trust that nothing will go wrong._

**USE THE VIRUS. AGITATE THE SHIMTREE. MAYBE ILL GET LUCKY**

Jim smiled a little, looking hopeful and scared at the same time. "Get the ball rolling, Spock. We're three days from Earth. Let's not waste any more time."

Spock was already moving. McCoy could hear him giving orders in the background. McCoy figured that Vena'k and Sha'na'tic were nearby and M'Benga's virus was either ready or nearly so. This would happen fast, so they would have only a few seconds alone. McCoy fought to hang on just a few minutes more.

"Hang on, Old Man," Jim whispered as he reached up to cup McCoy's cheek, his thumb caressing the top of his cheekbone. McCoy found that it hurt that he couldn't feel it. "I need you around too much to let this go south on us. We'll get you back to normal. Even better without that Xenopolycythemia hanging over your head. You'll…  _we'll_  have plenty of years left to make each other crazy. You wait and see."

_God, I hope so,_ McCoy thought, too tired to type anymore. He felt himself fading away again.  _If nothing else works, just give me a few more days. I'd crawl through **any**  kind of crap I have to just to get that._

He slipped away.

 

***

 

Jim Kirk stood on the balcony of the hotel room, breathing in the salty tang of the breeze off the San Francisco Bay. The air was a bit cool, but it beat the ship's recycled air by a parsec.

It had been a long two weeks for Jim, especially since McCoy had been unconscious for most of the first one. Sha'na'tic had been true to his word and was able to force the shimtree into action throughout McCoy's body before they reached Earth, where he was taken away by Starfleet's Security forces for further questioning. Then there had been the trip down to Earth and then the wait for results.

Hordes of doctors at Starfleet Medical had had a field day with all their tests on McCoy after he'd arrived. Even getting to Earth had been problematic. They'd chosen to shuttle him down rather than take a chance the transporter's bio-filters would either refuse to reassemble McCoy and tag him as contaminated or would try to strip the shimtree out of him before it had done its job.

_Like trying to tap dance through a minefield while unable to see your feet. Anything, everything, could go wrong with one miss-step._

Except for his Starfleet debriefings and some rather intense questioning by Starfleet Security, Jim had managed to ride out most of the political shit-storm by McCoy's bedside. He had been scared, because no one was sure at first what the gene manipulation done by the shimtree would do. They all had their hypothesis, of course, but no one really  _knew_. The good news was that McCoy would never suffer from Xenopolycythemia again. The defective gene had been completely over-written. But the more the shimtree had been allowed to activate within McCoy's nervous system, the more that system had shut down. They'd had to put him on total life support for a few days.

And through it all, Jim had hung on to the screen McCoy had last used to communicate with them. There had been no flicker of any contact since McCoy had given them permission to proceed.

_Finally_ , after days that had aged Jim a decade or two, McCoy's nervous system had started to come back on-line. The other doctors later confirmed that all traces of the shimtree had been flushed out of his system. But it was another day of life support before McCoy's brain came back 'on-line'. The relief had made Jim feel like he'd been holding his breath for weeks. And when McCoy finally woke, he'd remembered everything. Which threw all the doctors around them into a flurry of excitement. Jim would have bet that McCoy's urine, full of the flushed out shimtree, was worth its weight in gold-pressed latinum the way everyone acted.

Over the next week, McCoy had awoken for longer and longer periods of time and Jim had fought to be there when he was. Spock had understood and run interference when he could, but still, Jim felt bad that he ever had to step away from McCoy's side.

_If that's even a fraction of what Bones went through when I died, I don't know how he stood it._

He smiled as he felt McCoy come up behind him, wrap his arms around Jim's waist and press up against him.

"It's cold," McCoy complained as he tucked his chin on Jim's shoulder. "But pretty."

"You always think it's cold out here," Jim said with amusement. He placed his hands over McCoy's, locking them into place. He was careful not to lean back and put any weight on him. McCoy was getting his strength back, but it would still be a while before he'd be back to normal. "I would have thought that all those years at the Academy would have acclimated you."

"What can I say? I know what I like." McCoy hugged him even harder. "And what I don't. And I don't like to be cold."

Jim patted McCoy's hands. "Don't tire yourself out, Bones. You need to rest."

" _All_ I've been doing is resting," McCoy grumbled into Jim's neck. "They checked me out two days ago. I've been taking a nap every few hours. I've even managed to eat some of that horrible room service food. I'm  _fine,_ Jim."

"Yes, you are." Jim loosened McCoy's grip and turned in his embrace. He placed his arms around McCoy's shoulders and a soft kiss on his lips.

McCoy kissed him back, then pulled back a bit to look him in the eyes, looking at him with speculation. "You've been awful affectionate lately."

Jim acted surprised. "Who? Me? Of course not. Why would I have any affection for you?" He smiled as he kissed McCoy again.

McCoy huffed into the kiss. "What I meant was, more than the usual foreplay. Not that I mind too much," McCoy added, his smile growing lecherous.

" _You_  mind?" Jim laughed. "You're the one who keeps drifting off before we can get serious. But that's okay. We've got one more week here before the ship's been fully outfitted and we have to leave. We've got  _lots_  of time."

"Then let's not waste it." McCoy slid a hand down between them, cupping Jim's genitals through his shorts and squeezing gently. "I'm up for more than just canoodling at the moment."

"Canoodling?" Jim shook his head, angling his hips forward so he could enjoy McCoy's touch. "Is that one of those ancient words for sucking face? Seriously, you are such an old soul, Doctor."

"With a young libido, you tease."

Jim kissed McCoy again, this time seriously. McCoy opened his mouth and Jim plundered it, reveling in the familiar closeness and tastes. When they finally broke for air, Jim was hard in McCoy's hand and both were flushed. "Let's go inside and really test out that bed," Jim suggested.

"About damn time!"

Once inside it took only a few minutes to shut out the world and get naked. The press of their bodies together was like a punch to all of Jim's nerve endings. They fell onto the bed, wrapped around each other, lips and tongue playing and teasing. Jim took the lead, lying on top of McCoy and taking small nips down his throat and to his collarbone. He rubbed his erection against McCoy's leg and reached down to hold McCoy's in his hand. The skin of it was soft and hot, while the shaft was hard and thick. As his mouth worked his way down McCoy's broad chest he pulled at McCoy's erection. It jumped in his hand and McCoy moaned. By the time Jim had made his way down to McCoy's crotch, McCoy's erection was flushed red, skin tight and head leaking. As he took it in his mouth, McCoy groaned loudly and grabbed at Jim's hair.

Jim worked McCoy's erection slowly, tongue playing around his glans, the shaft, tracing the thick veins that ran up the underside. He nuzzled McCoy's ball sack and used one hand to roll both testicles in small circles, all the while watching as McCoy grew ever more vocal in his responses.

_He's mine,_ Jim thought with smugness.  _Always has been. Always will be. And I don't want to share. Not anymore._

"Damn it, Jim," McCoy gasped, his hold tightening on Jim's hair, but not forcing him. "You're killing me!"

Knowing how close McCoy was, Jim took his own hard-on in hand and brought himself to the edge. Then, just seconds before his own release, he deep throated McCoy. McCoy's shout echoed through the room and Jim held him firmly in his mouth while his own orgasm threatened to make him collapse. Pulse thunderous in his head and on the edge of losing all his strength, Jim let McCoy's flagging erection go and crawled up the still panting man. He slid in next to McCoy, throwing an arm and leg over him. McCoy, his eyes closed, his face still flushed, grabbed him and pulled him close. Jim could hear McCoy's heartbeat through his chest. It sounded wonderful.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Jim enjoyed the contact, feeling like he'd been starved for it.

_I have to tell him._ Jim decided.  _Yes or no, he has to know. Because I almost lost the chance to tell him anything at all._

"Bones?"

"Mmmmm?" McCoy didn't bother to open his eyes or move.

"I want this. All the time."

McCoy huffed. "Okay, maybe I'm not quite up to _all_ the time, but give me a few minutes and I'll see what I can do. Like, maybe 60 of them. After a quick nap."

Jim grinned and rubbed his face on McCoy's chest. He smelled so damn good after sex. Like Jim could smell how content and happy he was.  _Bottle this up and make a million credits._  Jim thought with amusement.  _A billion._

"No, not  _that_ 'all the time'. Okay, maybe that too."

"Jim, you talk too much," McCoy complained sleepily.

Jim pushed himself up and watched as McCoy opened his eyes to look at him suspiciously. "Actually, I was thinking I didn't talk enough about some things. About us."

McCoy became more awake, looked at Jim with concern and started rubbing his back. "Go for it."

Jim took a breath, still watching McCoy's face. "Every time something big happens, we crawl a bit closer to each other. Acquaintances to friends, friends to best friends, best friends to 'friends with benefits'. I'm tired of being single and playing games, Bones. I  _want_  to be settled and be a real couple. I want everyone to know how happy you make me. I want to make  _you_ happy."

McCoy pulled away from Jim just enough to push himself up, his face full of concern.

"Are you sure, Jim?"

"Yes. A couple. Us together, with no one else. A long-term, committed relationship." He watched as McCoy's eyebrows rose. "Monogamy. See? I can say it."

Jim must have looked a bit put out because McCoy held up his hand placatingly. "Not saying you can't do the monogamy thing, Jim, or that you don't know what you want. Just that, are you sure _I'm_  the one? I know what it's like when it doesn't work," he finished quietly, worry in his eyes. "It hurts like hell. You not only lose a love, you lose a friend as well. If it goes  _really_  bad, you can feel like you've lost your whole life. And if something bad happens to one of us..."

"Listen, Bones, I understand that. I've had plenty of time to think. But when it comes down to it, maybe neither one of us has a tomorrow." Jim sat up, leaving his hand on McCoy's stomach. "Why waste whatever time we do have worrying?"

McCoy started to say something, and Jim cut him off.

"And  _yes_ , I know Starfleet will pretend to object. But I'm sure the crew and most of Command know about us anyway. People aren't stupid, and they talk. So I doubt they'll be really surprised or throw roadblocks in our way if we make a commitment. Well… Maybe Admiral Brushton will, because he just flat out doesn't like me, and Admiral Bellamy wants you off the ship and onto one of his research teams. So maybe they'll pitch a fit. But the rest of them probably don't care as long as the _Enterprise_ can still be called a Flag Ship. And I have no intention of it being anything less than that as long as I'm the Captain."

Jim cupped McCoy's cheek. "I'm _serious_ about this, Bones. You and me. No one else. You move into my cabin full time because it's the bigger one and we just go from there and do what we always do. Save the universe and then find each other afterward. And maybe…" Jim smiled shyly, "we get married. Someday. I want that too, Bones. But I'm okay with making sure this works first."

For a long moment, McCoy just studied Jim closely, his eyebrows drawn down as his eyes scoured Jim's face. Then, suddenly, McCoy relaxed and smiled back.

"Yeah. Okay."

"Okay?" Jim smiled.

"Yeah." McCoy's face turned serious again. "But if I'm going to move in on a full-time basis, you have to move more of your crap out of your drawers."

"We can move some of it to your cabin. Which you should totally keep, by the way. No use giving up good storage space on a ship."

"And you and Spock have gotta take your early morning check-in meetings someplace else but  _our_  kitchen table. That morning I almost walked out into the living area in only my skin, while you two were planning the future of the universe, was one time too many. Especially when you and I work different shifts. If I'm living there, I want to be naked when I'm naked and not worry about your company getting an eyeful."

Jim chuckled and leaned down to kiss him again. "Keep my meetings to the Ready Room in case of drive-by nakedness. Got it. We'll have to start a list of rules."

McCoy grabbed Jim and pulled him down with him. "Now that we've got that settled, back to our nap."

Jim snuggled in closer, folding himself around McCoy. He didn't think he could sleep, but he was more than happy to hold McCoy while he did.

"Just think, Bones," Jim murmured quietly into the crook of McCoy's neck. "Someday, you could be _Doctor Kirk_."

McCoy snorted sleepily. "Oh, hell no. You can be _Captain McCoy,_ though. That's got a good ring to it."

"Uh… we'll put that on our list of things we agree to disagree about," Jim said happily. "I have a feeling that's going to be one hell of a list by the time we're old enough to retire."

"Ain't that the truth." McCoy yawned. "Parsecs long."

They were quiet for a moment. Then McCoy turned his head and kissed Jim's forehead. "I love you, you know," he whispered against Jim's skin. "I think I always have. We'll  _make_  this work, Kid. We'll get to that retirement one day, together. I promise."

"I know we will, Old Man," Jim whispered back. "Because I love you too. I promise."

After a few minutes of silence, McCoy fell asleep. Jim reached down and grabbed what he could of their covers and pulled it up and over them both.

And in spite of himself, Jim fell asleep too, knowing he was safely home.

 


End file.
